


Dissonance

by chaoticaverage



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Demon!Justice, M/M, Post-Dragon Age II, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:14:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26309869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticaverage/pseuds/chaoticaverage
Summary: Realizing the mage-templar war is going to escalate, Fenris sets off to find the man he blames for it all. When he finds his target, it is not as he expects.
Relationships: Anders/Fenris (Dragon Age)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 88





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CW: this fic will involve discussions of suicidal ideation.

_**Kirkwall, 9:37 Dragon** _

The sky turned a sickly shade of red as two beams of bright light burst from the tower atop Kirkwall’s chantry with a sound so loud Fenris felt as though all his senses had been obliterated. It took what felt like an eternity to realize what had occurred. It didn’t sink in until the cyclone of stone and energy swirling up through the sky suddenly flew out in a great ring and a cacophony of crashes and screams filled the air. 

“Maker have mercy,” he heard Meredith murmur. 

“There can be no peace.” _Anders_? _Justice?_ _The abomination_ replied coldly. 

Fenris’ eyes widened and his gaze frantically tried to take in all around him, taking stock of his companions. Hawke was glaring at Anders with tears in her eyes. Sebastian dropped to his knees and howled. Fenris’ eyes returned to Anders who was standing almost expressionless between Hawke, Meredith, and Orsino. They were arguing, but the ringing in Fenris ears drowned it out. Meredith’s eyes had filled with bloodlust. Orsino was pleading, and Anders... With what little Fenris knew of the mage, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Anders had left them long before the sky had turned the color of blood. Fenris felt sick. He may have resented the mage’s presence and thought him a danger, but only as far as all mages were at risk. By the Maker, the man was a _healer_. Even on his angriest days, Fenris never would have thought him capable of this. 

Drifting back to the present, Fenris realized Sebastian had stood and stepped to his side, and was shouting at Hawke. “Why are we debating the Right of Annulment when the monster who did this is right here? I swear to you, I will kill him?”  
Hawke wasn’t listening. “I could have _stopped you_ ,” she hissed at Anders, her voice thickened by heartbreak. 

Anders didn’t avert his gaze. “No. This had to happen. The Circle is an injustice. In many places beyond Kirkwall. The world needs to see.” 

“Anders...Please...This isn’t you. This is Justice. Does he have you? Please, tell me this wasn’t you.” Before Anders could respond, Orsino was yelling. “You fool! You’ve doomed us all.” Anders turned to Orsino and Meredith then. “We were already doomed. A quick death now, or a slow one later. I’d rather die fighting. 

An expression settled in Hawke’s eyes that Fenris had seen many times before: when the Arishok demanded she answer for the loss of their relic, when Isabella revealed she _had_ the relic in the first place, when they found Quentin’s debauched lair, even when they found Danarius in the Hanged Man. Hawke was constantly being asked to take responsibility for the failures of others. She had told him once that she never wanted to be Champion. “I didn’t really _do_ anything,” she explained. “I was just at the right place at the right time, again.” Now, she was being asked to defend a horrid crime by her lover’s hands, or to abandon the ideals she had spent years cultivating. She and Fenris had disagreed often on her insistence that mages be “saved” from the Circle, but Fenris had stayed because he respected her. She always did what needed to be done in the end. 

Hawke finally replied, her voice cracking and quiet: “It won’t be easy, but I will defend you,” she promised Orsino. 

Fenris’ stomach lurched. “Hawke, _no_ . Enough is enough. The mages here would become magisters if they could, do not let them. After all they’ve done, you still defend them? It is over for the mages of Kirkwall. Do not throw yourself at a hopeless cause.”  
“And what of Anders?” Sebastian cried. 

Varric responded more gently than the rest, placing a hand on her elbow. “Hawke, are you sure about this? Even you might not win this fight.” Hawke grasped Varric’s hand as she often did to ground herself, and they had an entire conversation with a glance. Fenris knew, watching them, that her decision had been made. There was no going back now. Meredith stepped forward, extending a finger in Hawke’s direction. “Think carefully, Champion. Stand with them, and you share their fate.” 

Hawke’s pleading look faded, and was replaced by the confident air that earned her the title of Champion. Looking Meredith dead in the eye, she said, “I can live with that.” 

Meredith snarled. “You are a fool, Champion. Kill them all! I will rouse the rest of the Order.” 

Suddenly, they were embroiled in a battle. Magic and steel flew through the air until at least a dozen templars and just as many mages lie dead on the ground. Hawke was on one knee, panting, covered in blood. Merrill and Isabella had backed into a corner and were holding each other. Varric stood stunned among the carnage. Fenris cleaned the blood of his sword. 

Orsino sighed, bringing his staff back to the ground. “So it’s come to this,” he murmured, taking in weight of what was surely just the beginning of this battle. “I do not know if we can win this war, Champion, but...thank you.” Orsino glanced over to Anders, who had taken a seat on a crate nearby. “I will leave your...friend...for you to deal with. I must return to the Gallows. Meet me there as soon as you can. 

Hawke nodded, and Orsino left them. They were alone as Hawke’s companions for one of the last times. Hawke quietly walked behind Anders, opening her mouth to speak but unable to find the words. 

Anders filled the silence. “There’s nothing you can say that I Haven’t already said to myself. Vengeance…” The mage’s voice was thick with tears. _Remorse, even_? Fenris thought to himself. “Vengeance took me over. I couldn’t stop him, Hawke. Justice once told me that demons are just spirits perverted by their desires. I made my friend a demon, and he did...this.” Anders winced and pressed his eyes closed. Fenris swore he saw a flicker of blue lighting across Anders’ brow. 

“Do not hide behind your spirit! It was your hand that did this,” Sebastian snapped. 

“Please, Hawke. Kill me now before there is nothing left of me.” 

Hawke let out a pained gasp then. “Anders...I _know_ you would have changed it if you could,” she said, almost pleading with the man to give her a reason to trust him. Fenris shook his head. He had always known what Hawke could never see, that Anders was an abomination in the fullest sense of the word. The compassionate healer of Darktown had been fading more and more over the six years they had known each other, and now to call him Anders rather than Justice or Vengeance was formality. 

“I have proven I cannot,” Anders replied in a detached tone. “If I couldn’t control Vengeance now, I never will. I need to die.”  
Hawke’s staff clattered to the ground, her legs almost giving out as she braced herself on a convenient pile of rubble. She looked like she was going to be sick. 

Sensing her hesitance, Sebastian inserted himself once more. “If I’d been in that chantry today, would you be waffling? Hawke, you know what must be done!”  
Fenris couldn’t hold back any longer. “He wants to die, Hawke. Kill him and be done with it,” he said, unsure if he was trying to impress upon her pity or anger. 

He felt for Hawke. As much as he hated to admit it, he could understand the mage’s appeal. He was handsome enough, and when Justice was hidden away he was almost tolerable. However, he could never understand how Hawke was able to look past the simple fact of his abomination...ness. Fenris had warned her the mage would break her heart. She only laughed and said, “That’s what Anders said. You two have something in common after all.” 

Hawke shook her head after a long moment and clenched her fists. “Just...go…” she said quietly, but sternly. Anders turned to face her then, shock painted across his face. 

“No!” Sebastian yelled. “You cannot let this abomination walk free. He dies, or I am returning to Starkhaven, And I will bring such an army with me on my return that there’ll be nothing left of Kirkwall for these maleficarum to rule!”  
“Do not interfere Sebastian.”  
“Hawke, he’s right...Please...You have to kill me.” 

“Get out of the city. I cannot bear to look at you, but I will not kill you. I have lost everyone, my brother and my mother dead by this blade,” she stared down at the dagger that Fenris hadn’t seen her take out. She exhaled and threw it to the ground. “No more.” She turned, and walked away, beckoning the rest of them to follow toward the gallows. After a few minutes of stunned silence, Fenris stopped walking. 

“Hawke…” 

She stopped, shoulders sagging, and turned to him, a knowing look in her bright blue eyes. He knew she knew what he was about to say, but he needed to say them, as though to convince himself. “I can’t...I won’t fight to save these mages. Not even for you.” 

She nodded, a slight smile at the corner of her mouth. “I know,” she whispered, and wrapped him up in a tight embrace. Fenris tensed at first, but then relaxed into her arms, tears gathering. “I’m sorry,” he murmured softly. She pulled away from him, gripping his shoulders and scanning his face, as though trying to memorize its details. “Goodbye, my friend,” she said with a smile before walking away from him into battle. 

**_The Waking Sea, 9:40 Dragon_ **

Two years. It had been two years since Fenris last saw Hawke, since the one home he had chosen for himself was obliterated by one’s man naivete. He groaned, rubbing his eyes as he awoke from the nightmare he had had a thousand times since he left Kirkwall--a bright red sky, piles of dead templars and bloodied circle robes, and one abomination’s empty eyes. He was haunted by Hawke’s decision to let Anders go. More specifically, the knowledge that the man was somewhere out in the world doing Maker knows what had nagged him with every step he took since the Kirkwall rebellion began. He had almost convinced himself to stop caring, and then the templars attacked the meeting of the first enchanters at White Spire and separated from the chantry. The war was going to escalate, and he had no doubt that Anders…the abomination...would be a part of it. He had found himself possessed by an irresistible urge to hunt the mage down. He told himself it was for the greater good, to cut off the head of the snake before the mages gained too much ground, but he knew deep down that he needed closure. Vengeance. Retribution. Something. The mage had betrayed him, had betrayed all of them, had destroyed Fenris’ one chance at happiness by sending Kirkwall to ruin and ensuring that the chasm between him and Hawke would widen irreparable. He hated Anders for hurting the woman who had only ever done her best for all of them. He hated Anders for proving him right. He had declined Sebastian’s invitation all those years ago, knowing that the archer was telling the truth when he pledged to bring an army to Kirkwall’s gates. No, Fenris had no desire for war, but the death of one man? That was a price that finally needed to be paid. 

The slow rocking of the ship against the waves of the Waking Sea made Fenris’ stomach turn. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stood, stretching his sore limbs and cracking his neck. Not for the first time in the past two years he missed his bed in Danarius’ mansion. _Another loss Anders will pay for_ , he grumbled silently. He slipped on the loose black trousers and tunic that he had begrudgingly resigned himself to wear once he realized how hot and humid this trip was going to be. Fenris hadn’t spent much time at sea, and he was eager to return to land. The air smelled of fish _constantly_ , and the moisture in the air made his hair stick to his forehead. He felt ridiculous. _It’s for a good cause_ , he reminded every minute of the day and a half he spent on a ship, a day and a half that felt like years. When they docked in Amaranthine, Fenris couldn’t get off the ship fast enough. Hood drawn, he walked into the bustling city. 

Fenris took a seat in the back of a tavern called the Crown & Lion, taking stock of his surroundings. It wasn’t as busy as he expected, but the energy was high. People here seemed...happy. Little did they know, if Fenris was right, there was a monster in their midst. He watched the crowd for almost an hour, nursing an ale, and saw nothing that might lead to the mage. He sighed, not sure what he had expected in the first place. He doubted Anders would be foolish enough to frequent the local pub with how many surely wanted him dead. But, knowing Anders, he hadn’t been able to resist healing. He may not be the Darktown Healer anymore, but he had a name Fenris would find. Fenris carefully approached the barkeep, sliding a few coppers for another ale (he’d asked for wine, and got a laugh in response). 

“I’m wondering if you can help me,” Fenris began as the other man began preparing his drink. The barkeep raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Well, out with it.” 

Fenris cleared his throat. “I’m in need of...a healer…” he said slowly. 

The barkeep’s expression darkened. _Here we go_ , Fenris thought to himself. “What you want with a healer?” he replied, setting the drink on the counter. 

“I have a...very specific sort of problem.” Fenris feigned looking around as if concerned about prying eyes before placing one of his hands, already phased, above the counter. He thought that an unsuspecting onlooker might think him cursed if his limbs were “mysteriously” dematerializing. _Half right_. 

The barkeep’s eyes widened and he nodded. “I’m sorry, friend, that looks...serious, but we don’t have a healer anymore. 

Fenris quirked his head to the side. “What do you mean? There’s no healer in the whole village?”  
“Not...that kind of healer.” 

Fenris sighed and nodded. “I must have heard wrong. Thank you for your time.” He turned and nearly started towards the door, before the barkeep stopped him again.

“We used to but he left years ago. I heard he used to be one of them wardens, must have moved on. There might be more up at the keep, though.”

Fenris’ breath hitched. _Could it be? Did I finally find him?_ The nerves in his gut surprised him. He had been certain of his desire for vengeance for years, why would he be weary of the act now? He shook the flicker of doubt away, and turned back. “Where did the healer used to live?”  
Confused, he replied, “Ah, well, in a cottage up the hill south of the city, but it’s been abandoned.” 

“No more,” he said under his breath. Before the barkeep could question him, he placed another sovereign on the counter and left it, and his drink, behind. _Your time is up, abomination._

***

Fenris stood for longer than he should have at the foot of the path atop which the healer’s cottage sat. It looked as the man said, abandoned, but Fenris knew better. Somehow, he knew that Anders, that the mage, was behind those walls. He was surprised to realize he was hesitating. Sifting through the nervous fog that had descended over his mind, he thought _concerned about the confrontation. Justice is formidable_ . He nodded. Yes, that was it. He flexed his hand around the pommel of his great sword, the Blade of Mercy Hawke had gifted him. _Hawke. The abomination separated you, lost you your only friend, your home. He has always been weak. Finish this_. He exhaled, and made quick work of the walk up the hill. He broke open the brittle, rotting door with one hard kick, finding a startled Anders sitting on a tattered chair in the center of a dark, bare room. Startling the elf, he smiled and stood, dusting off his lap. 

“Finally,” he sighed. 

Fenris took in the sight. Anders was thinner than he had ever been, his eyes were sunken and framed with dark circles. He didn’t wear robes, but a plain, wrinkled runic over stained pants. His feet were bare and cuts peaked out from around his soles. His hair was long but unkempt, hanging limp around his face. “What--” Fenris began, before Anders cut him off. 

“I’ve been waiting for someone to come. Honestly, I’m glad it’s you. You won’t hesitate.” Fenris took a startled step backwards as the mage dropped to his knees in front of him and pulled open the front of his shirt. “Go on then. Kill me.” 


	2. Chapter 2

Fenris couldn’t wrap his head around what he was saying. He had prepared himself for a fight, plotted vengeance against a monster whose dead eyes haunted his dreams, his nightmares. The man kneeling in front of him was barely a husk of the man he remembered. He looked dead already, and here he was, bearing his chest for Fenris to finish the job. 

“What’s your game,” Fenris said sharply. 

Anders rolled his eyes. “With you of all people I thought this would be simple. You want me dead, yes? Hand, chest, heart, crushed? I’m not going to fight you, just get it over with, I’m sick of waiting.” 

Fenris’ hand flexed at his side. What was he waiting for? This is why he came all this way, spent a week in a stinking cart from Hamsal and got on a ship in Ostwick to make for Amaranthine, the last place he knew the mage had lived before Kirkwall. 

“Why did you come back here?” Fenris heard himself asking. You had to know people would look here.” 

Anders groaned and stood. “Torturing me first, huh? Fine. I’ll humor you. It’s not complicated. I wanted to be found.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense, mage.” 

“You know what else doesn’t make sense? Why you’re making small talk instead of ending my life. Just DO IT.”

The distinctly Anders voice, albeit shaky and hoarse, behind the demand made Fenris realize something important: “Where’s your demon? Why doesn’t he protect you?” 

The mage’s eyes narrowed. “Oh,  _ now _ you want to see him do you? Too bad. He doesn’t come out to play much anymore.”

Fenris scoffed. “I don’t believe you. The war you started rages outside, and your demon is just sitting it out?” 

Anders shrugged. 

“What aren’t you telling me, mage?”

“What do you care,  _ elf _ ? You’ve wanted to kill me for years, I’m sure, so just  _ do it _ .” Suddenly Anders was inches from Fenris, grabbing his wrist, and pressing his hand over his heart. “Do it. Take it. Crush it like I’m sure you’ve dreamed. Kill me like you killed Danarius and Hadriana. What’s one more mage? You’ve always said I was no different than a magister, so treat me like one.  _ Kill me _ .” 

Something had changed in Anders’ expression. The indignance and anger had shifted to a plea, desperate and raw. Fenris jerked his hand back and swore he saw tears brimming in the man’s eyes. Anders turned from him just as swiftly. “FUCK!” he screamed, leaning over the modest table on the other side of the room. 

“Fasta vass, mage, what in the Maker’s name is going on here?” 

Anders turned his eyes to the ceiling, and yelled, tears cracking around his voice. “Is this some kind of cruel joke? Send the man who hates me most in this world just to prove to me I am doomed to live?” 

“Who are you talking to?” 

“Who knows. The Maker? Andraste? Justice? The animals outside? Who gives a shit who hears. It doesn’t matter.” 

“What happened to you?” 

Anders dropped to a crouch, leaning his forearms and head on the edge of the table. “Why do you care? Why won’t you just fucking kill me?” 

“To be completely honest, I don’t know. But when I imagined finding you I didn’t imagine…this. It’s…” 

“Pathetic?” 

“No I--” 

“Embarrassing? Pitiful?”

“Mage--” 

“Yes Fenris, you were right all along. I am  _ weak _ . So weak, I convinced myself a spirit wasnt a demon and let it ride me into the destruction of my home, and then wallowed in self-pity instead of doing anything about it, and to top it off, I can’t even kill myself properly. In this moment, you blighted elf, we want the same thing--me out of existence, so just do us both a favor: shut the  _ fuck _ up and tear my heart out, would you?” 

Frustration bubbled up within the elf. The mage was right. Why  _ was _ he asking questions? He had come here for one reason and one reason only, to kill the abomination that destroyed Kirkwall, who sent all of Thedas to war, who forced him back on the run.  _ What are you waiting for _ ? The mages demands echoed in his mind. “Maker damn you,” he growled and thrust a hand into Anders' chest, fingers tracing the soft muscle of his heart. Anders' eyes fluttered closed, and he sighed. “Thank you,” he murmured. Fenris eyes widened in horror as one thought finally cut through the tumult of his brain:  _ Don’t.  _

Fenris didn’t get the chance to question his flash of clarity, as Anders eyes suddenly flashed bright blue and familiar cracks of light snaked along the mage’s skin. Fenris was thrown back and slammed against the wall. “ _ You _ ,”  Fenris snarled. Here he was, the reason he had come all this way. Doubt be damned, here was the monster. 

Justice healed the chest wound with a flash. “ **YOU WILL NOT TAKE HIM.”** The otherworldly voice resonated around them and Fenris shuddered. He had forgotten the dread that followed the demon’s emergence. 

“I will happily rid this plane of you, demon,” Fenris hissed back. 

“ **NO. I HAVE KEPT HIM ALIVE THIS FAR, YOU WILL NOT DEFEAT ME.** ” 

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Me? Not us?” 

**“ANDERS HAS GIVEN UP ON JUSTICE. I WILL NOT. I WILL NOT LET ANYONE, NOT HIM, NOT YOU, END THIS MISSION. JUSTICE HAS NOT YET BEEN ACHIEVED.”**

“What do you mean, given up? 

**“LEAVE NOW.”**

“If you’re so concerned with him leaving, why does he look like a corpse already?” 

The demon’s eyes glared.  **“I CANNOT MAKE HIM EAT OR SLEEP. I CAN ONLY PREVENT DEATH.”**

Fenris groaned, as the pieces began to fit together. His eyes moved up and down Anders' wasted body. The mage’s pleas ran through his head. The mage’s first word upon seeing him...  _ Finally _ . “He wants to die and you won’t let him,” Fenris murmured. 

The blue light faded and Anders slumped to the ground. He pushed his body back against the wall and pulled his knees to his chest. “If you aren’t going to kill me, please just leave.” He said barely above a whisper. 

“Anders…” 

His eyes snapped up. “ _ Don’t _ you dare. Don’t use my name now just because you pity me. Pity from you is worse than hate,” he spat.

Fenris backed away, and ran out the door. 

It had started to rain. Fenris ran down the hill, and half a mile down the road, before dropping to his hands and knees and vomiting. 

“Kaffas.” What was he supposed to do now? Despite all his bests intentions, he couldn’t bring himself to kill the mage. Perhaps he didn’t want to give the mage the satisfaction of fulfilling his wish. Perhaps he did pity him. He didn’t know. The only thing he was sure of in that moment is that he couldn’t crush that man’s heart. He wanted to run all the way back to port and leave, out of Ferelden, back to Hamsal. He had carved out a tolerable life for himself. The small village he began to call home was filled with refugees from the Imperium. He could make a difference there. He helped others reach the level of freedom he had. There, he had resolved to use that freedom to avenge the crimes done against his city, his friends. Hawke’s eyes suddenly filled his mind. Soft, gentle, and compassionate. He remembered the look on her face when she tried to understand what Anders had done. “I wish you were here Hawke,” Fenris whispered to the Earth. “What would you do?” No sooner had the words left his mouth did he have his answer. There was only one thing Hawke would do. Fenris stood, took a deep breath, and turned around. 

Nearly forty five minutes had passed when Fenris slowly pushed open the cottage door for the second time. Anders was exactly where he left him, curled up in the fetal position, eyes stained with tears. His eyes were not vacant like they had been the day the chantry was destroyed, but they were distant...still. 

“What are you doing here?” Anders croaked. 

Fenris marched over to him and started lifting him up. 

“What? What are you doing??” Anders sputtered. 

“Get up.” 

“Why? What the--” 

Fenris pushed him hard against the wall. “You are going to go wash. You will put on clean clothes, if you have them, and you will eat something.” 

Anders stared at him, wide eyed. 

Fenris glowered. “Have you forgotten how to do these things?” 

“Um, no?” 

“Then begin.” Fenris waved his hand in the vague direction of the back of the cottage, assuming there was a washroom in there somewhere. 

Anders kept staring. Fenris maintained eye contact, trying his best impression of a look he had seen Leandra give Hawke many times. 

“Why are you doing this?” Anders finally asked, softly. 

“Because,” Fenris huffed. “It’s what Hawke would do.” 

Fenris sat outside on a damp stone as he waited for the mage. He rubbed his eyes, running through his decisions over and over.  _ It’s not too late, you can still just kill him _ , a voice in his head offered.  _ No, you can’t. It’s not right _ , said another. Hawke’s voice, or at least, the little “what would Hawke do” part of his conscience that he had been stuck with since he befriended the woman. He begrudgingly accepted that she had made him...care...about things. He knew he was irrevocably changed when she convinced him to spare his sister’s life. He had thought it made him a better person, but now, sitting on the stoop of a murderous abomination, he wasn’t so sure. “This is foolish,” he muttered to himself. 

“I would have to agree,” replied a quiet voice. A real one. Fenris turned and saw Anders standing in the doorway. He was wearing a simple white tunic and brown pants that were ripped off at the knee. His hair, now clean, hung just past his shoulders. He could almost forget the state in which he’d found the mage, if not for the sickly way his skin was stretched over his bones, or the dark crescents that hung heavy under his amber colored eyes. Anders rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, and Fenris realized he was staring. He turned his eyes back to the road. “Good. You can listen, at least.” 

Anders sighed. “Fenris, why are you doing this?”    
“I already told you.”    
“Hawke’s not  _ here _ ,” he said, his voice faltering around her name. “She couldn’t care less about me, and she...she loved me. You  _ hate _ me, and you went from holding my heart in your hands to telling me to  _ bathe _ because what, my  _ demon _ told you I wasn’t allowed to die?” Anders scoffed. “I would have thought you’d want to challenge him.” 

“Stop.” 

“What?” 

“Stop trying to convince me to kill you.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you shouldn’t be  _ trying to convince me to kill you _ .” Fenris was becoming exasperated. He barely understood what was happening, he didn’t appreciate being asked for explanations. 

Anders lowered his voice. “I don’t deserve your pity.”

“This isn’t about what you deserve. It’s about...This isn’t...right.” 

Anders raised an eyebrow, and started to laugh. The sound startled Fenris. The laugh was bright and bursting and for a moment, Fenris could see traces of the mage he knew in Kirkwall in this ghoul’s weak frame. “Do you mean...letting me die...isn’t...just?” He gasped between laughs. 

Fenris frowned and cross his arms. “I don’t see how this is funny.” 

Anders kept laughing until his voice was hoarse from the effort. He wiped tears from his eyes and sighed. “Sorry, I haven’t laughed in...sorry.” 

Fenris exhaled. “Anders…” 

He winced, the remnants of his laughter dissipating as quickly as they arrived. “Don’t.” 

Anders tried to retreat back into the house, and Fenris stood to follow him with a huff. “Anders.” 

Anders stood around, hands balled in fists. “Don’t!” 

Not sure what he was doing, Fenris crossed his arms. “Anders!” 

“Stop...calling me that!” he snarled

“That’s your  _ name _ , Anders.” 

“I’m not…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “You call me  _ mage _ or  _ abomination _ . That’s what you do. Anders...Don’t…” He pressed his hands into his temples, then opened his eyes, the empty expression returned. “ Anders died when the chantry exploded. I’m just a monster.” 

Fenris was left, stunned and silent, alone. 


	3. Chapter 3

Fenris pitched a tent outside for the first time in two years, since the last time he traveled with Hawke on the Wounded Coast. As uncomfortable and damp as the ground was, the air of nostalgia was comforting, and he slept well, at first. Then the nightmares came.  _ Blood red sky, screaming, Hawke turning from him and walking into battle. Did she even live? Vacant, honey colored eyes. Who? Anders. No. The eyes weren’t just empty, they were dead. Blood trickled around them, matted into amber strands of hair. Hands. His hands? Blood dripping off silver gauntlets--  _

Fenris woke with a start, sweating and panting, adrenaline gripping his heart. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. It was still dark outside. He sighed, throwing a tunic on and stepping outside. It had stopped raining, but the air was cool. Fenris closed his eyes, feeling the breeze blow past him. He had never really understood why the mage’s distant look from that day had plagued him so. It’s not like it was the first time he had been afraid of the abomination. Was that what it was? Fear? He sighed. Perhaps, but he knew deep down that it hadn’t been a fear for his life, but a fear for the mage himself, although Fenris would never say it outloud. As much as he hated the man, there was a shard of goodness in him even Fenris couldn’t deny. He had grown to, if not trust him, to at least believe he wouldn’t go mad with blood magic and kill them all in their sleep. When he looked at Anders under the light of his violent magic, the red glow falling around him, he saw...nothing. It was as if their healer was gone completely, and only Justice remained. He shuddered. Now, he knew that the healer’s soul had survived, but it was somehow worse. 

Fenris’ thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a clearing throat, and he spun around to see Anders standing in the doorway, arms wrapped around himself, in the same clothes Fenris had last seen him in. “Can’t sleep?” the mage asked softly. 

Fenris shook his head. “Nightmares.” 

Anders nodded. “Me too.” 

The two men stood worldlessly for some time, and it occurred to Anders that this might be the longest they’d ever been in each other’s presence without a cruel word passing between them. The healer closed his eyes, an onslaught of memories suddenly running through his mind. It sounded like his voice, but he barely recognized the man who spoke. 

_ “So we agree that it doesn’t take a demon for someone to be a vicious killer?”  _

_ “Perhaps they should start making slaves tranquil.”  _ _   
_ _ “He seems like less of a man to me than a wild dog.”  _

Anders shuddered. He had been--was--a monster in more ways than one. He remembered hating Fenris, but now their squabbles didn’t seem to matter. Or maybe Anders was just too tired. What he knew for certain, that had kept him from sleep thus far, was that Fenris was the only one who had seen the truth of him in Kirkwall. As he waited to waste away in his hovel, the healer had often heard Fenris’ voice in his mind like an angry conscience. _The moment they are free, mages will make themselves magisters. Do you see yourself as harmless then? An abomination that would never harm someone? How have the templars not killed you? I know some mages that deserved tranquility. I know mages that are weak_. _You are weak, you are an abomination, you should have been killed, or made tranquil._ As time went on, he stopped being able to tell which voice was the elf’s and which was his. He never thought it would matter. _  
_ “Why did you come here?” Anders spoke out loud. 

Fenris hesitated, once sure of his answer, now desperately confused. “I wanted to kill you,” he said matter-of-factly after a beat. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“I no longer want to kill you.” 

“Why not?”    
“I...don’t know.” 

Anders chuckled half-heartedly. “Just my luck. You want to kill me for years when I want to live, and now that I want to die, you suddenly value my continued existence. I guess it makes sense. You get to see me suffer more this way. Why else would you be sleeping in my lawn?” 

A flash of rage filled Fenris’ chest and he turned to glare at the mage. “I am no sadist. Your death would be payment enough for your crimes, I have no desire to see you suffer, I do not  _ torture _ .” 

_ There you are _ , Anders thought solemnly. The rage he had counted on when Fenris first walked through the door. Maybe… “Is that so? I guess these years have made you a coward.” 

“Don’t bait me, mage.” To Anders’ surprise, Fenris turned from him and crawled back into his tent. 

Fittingly, it started to rain again. Anders stood outside, alone, until he was soaked to the bone, relishing the shiver that ran deep and mingled with the new buds of guilt that grew in the ever present garden in his chest. He waited until he couldn’t bare it anymore, until he was so cold he felt like he couldn’t breathe.  _ It’s not cold enough for hypothermia, you’re just wet _ . He mused with a disappointed sigh. 

Fenris kept tossing and turning, part seething with an anger he did not understand, and another acutely aware that the mage was standing outside in the rain. He tried to focus on the pitter patter of rain drops on canvas, but there was just too much...else. The elf went through his conversation with Anders over and over again. He had taken the bait too easily, like old times. Despite his lingering anger towards the man, Fenris had come to regret much of his interactions with the healer, often wondering if, had he managed his rage better, the mage might have lost himself so fully. 

Hawke chided him regularly for his treatment of her lover.  _ “He thinks you’re going to have him made tranquil.”  _

_ “Why? I’ve kept his secret this long haven’t I?”  _ _   
_ _ “When we were out yesterday, you made some comment…I don’t know...You said you knew a few mages that should be tranquil.”  _ _   
_ _ “And?”  _ _   
_ _ “Fenris…You said this immediately after berating him about having Justice under control. It sounded bad.”  _ _   
_ _ “I meant Danarius and Hadriana!”  _ _   
_ _ “I know that, but Anders has no reason to believe he isn’t among them in your eyes.”  _

_ “No reason,” Fenris scoffed, but began to doubt as he took in Hawke’s skeptical look. “What?!”  _

_ “You refuse to use his name, you call him abomination, you constantly tell him he’s one bad day away from killing us all, and that he would be happy in Tevinter.”  _

_ “That’s absurd. Tevinter would eat him alive. He’s too...Anders,” he said with a dismissive gesture.  _

_ Hawke laughed. “Obviously, but you might try telling him that. I think...Fenris I’m worried about him. He’s so tired. I’m afraid he’ll stop fighting, and you telling him he’s a monster everyday is not helping.”  _

_ Fenris rolled his eyes. “I will not apologize to the ab...mage. Why should he care what I say anyway?”  _ _   
_ _ Hawke shook her head. “Just...talk to him? Please.”  _

_ “I’ll think about it,” Fenris grumbled. _

Fenris never apologized. He had never seen a reason to. There was no way a man as principled as Anders cared about the opinion of someone he so clearly hated.  __

Fenders woke up to a stiff neck and sore limbs. “I need to find softer ground,” he mumbled sleepily.  _ Why? Why am I staying? I came to do a job I am no longer doing. _ Fenris pulled his trousers on and went inside. The cottage was quiet.  _ The mage must still be sleeping _ . Fenris walked towards what could barely be called a kitchen and started rummaging through cabinets and drawers until he found an almost empty tin of tea.  _ This will have to do _ . More rummaging, and he found a tea kettle laying on its side in a corner of the adjacent room.  _ Thrown?  _ He dusted it off and hung it on the pot hook in the fireplace. He started a fire to heat water, and then began to hunt for cups. He found one chipped mug and an empty jar.  _ Andraste preserve me _ . When he had made what could at least pass for two cups of tea, he set his down (he took the jar) and went to the back of the cottage to find Anders. He didn’t want to wake him up, but he could at least leave the tea for him to wake up to. Fenris wasn’t entirely sure  _ why _ he had felt compelled to do this, but it felt like a nice gesture. He wasn’t sure which door the mage was behind, so he started carefully opening each one he passed. When he didn’t find Anders behind any of them, he was first, perplexed.  _ Am I really that tired _ ? He turned around, looking for the door he must have missed. He checked each again, sticking his head in a little bit further. Behind one door was a blanket tossed to a corner and a bed roll that had been used recently, but no mage. Fenris huffed, figuring he must have slipped past him when he was still asleep. “Mage,” he called sleepily as he stepped through the front door. Wherever he was, he wasn’t in earshot. Fenris started sipping on the tea he had meant for Anders.  _ Let him take the blighted jar, then _ . When the sun was high in the sky and the mage still hadn’t returned, Fenris started to worry.  _ Why am I worried _ ?  _ He’s a grown man….A grown man who begged me to kill him yesterday. A grown man who also has a demon who won’t let him die. It’s fine...isn’t it? _ Fenris wondered what it felt like to die. Did the mage feel it every time Justice had pulled him back from the beyond? How many times  _ had _ Justice saved his life? How many times had Anders tried to end it? Anders had asked him about this once before. 

_ “Did you ever think about killing yourself?”  _ _   
_ _ “I could ask you the same thing.”  _ Fenris hadn’t taken the question seriously. He thought the mage was goading him. 

_ “I’m serious.”  _ Fenris remembered being able to hear the eye roll.  _ “To get out of slavery, to escape Danarius...don’t tell me you never thought about it. _

_ “I did not. To kill oneself is a sin in the eyes of the Maker.”  _

_ “You...believe that?”  _ At the time, Fenris had thought Anders was mocking him. He often groaned when Sebastian would start religious discussions, and guffawed when it was revealed that Fenris had been seen at the chantry. Now, he heard his memory differently. It sounded like a plea, as though he wanted to believe it too.    
_ “I try to. Some things must be worse than slavery.”  _

_ “Some things are worse than death,”  _ the mage had responded, almost too quietly for Fenris to hear. The exchange had struck him as odd, but like with most of his encounters with Anders, Fenris tried not to give it a second thought. They poked and prodded at each other. Most of what Fenris said came and went with moments of rage. He had been sure that Anders understood not to take him seriously, or at least, that Anders didn’t care enough to. 

Hours passed, and although Fenris hadn’t consciously chosen to wait, he did, keeping his eyes on the path. He sat on the stone outside Anders’ cottage, until he saw the shape of a man coming around the bend. He was relieved for a moment, until he noticed the faint glow around his eyes. Fenris leapt to his feet and ran to meet him on the path. “What the hell are you  _ doing _ ?” Anders stilled, the light orbs of Justice’s eyes staring through him. “My task is complete,” he said in a flat tone. The glow faded, and suddenly Anders’ body was slumping to the ground. Fenris moved to catch him, sliding to the ground with him. “Mage?” he shook Anders’ shoulders lightly. His eyes fluttered open and he looked at Fenris’ quizzically. “You,” he muttered. “I thought you were a dream.” And his eyes closed again. 

Sure of very little, except that they couldn’t stay in the middle of the road, Fenris scooped Anders into his arms and started carrying him towards the cottage.  _ He should be heavier _ . Fenris remembered Anders as strong and sturdy. It was part of what made him so intimidating. Magisters, despite their fearsome power, were soft and weak. Fenris brought the mage to his bed roll, grimacing at the lack of a comfortable place to lay him down. He pulled the blanket over his shoulders and slouched against the wall, sliding to the floor. He sat on the other side of the room, watching the mage’s chest rise and fall. Fenris waited for the second time that day. 

Anders groaned as he regained consciousness. It was never a good sign. It meant he failed again. He rolled onto his side and coughed, expelling murky water onto the floor, and was startled to open his eyes to a stone faced elf, crouched beside him wiping it up with a rag. “Fenris? Why--” His memories started to return. A hand in his chest, a door slammed, a bath, guilt, regret, rain. Water...so much water. He wretched again, sending the elf scrambling backwards. He rolled over again, turning his back to the elf. He didn’t know why he was there, but he certainly didn’t relish the thought of Fenris seeing him feeling like...whatever this was. “Are you alright An--mage? Your demon...I think he took you somewhere. You were out all day, and returned in his thrall. You are ill. Can you heal yourself?” 

Anders’ stomach lurched and he remembered more.  _ I no longer want to kill you. Stop trying to convince me to kill you. Nightmares. I have no desire to see you suffer. A tent in the yard.  _ “Leave,” Anders breathed. 

Fenris stood. “No.”    
“Why not?”    
He hesitated. “It is not what Hawke would do.” 

“Hawke…” Anders murmured. “It is what she would do. She sent me away, after all. She too, refused to let me die.” 

“Where did you go?” Fenris asked quietly, beginning to see the answer already. 

“I had an appointment,” he said dryly. 

Anders heard Fenris suck in a sharp breath, stand up, and leave the room. He exhaled.  _ Good. Leave. _ To his surprise, Fenris returned and set something down next to his bedroll. “I made you tea,” the elf said after a moment. “It’s cold now.” 

Anders didn’t move, or acknowledge that the elf had spoken. They shared the room in silence for a long while before Fenris spoke again. “What can I do?” 

If Anders didn’t know any better, he would think the elf’s voice sounded strained, sad even.  _ Probably resentment, that I’ve made his mission so difficult for him _ . “You can figure out a way to get Justice out of me, or to quiet him long enough to let me die” he said, as calmly and clearly as he could. He waited, and listened to the sound of Fenris leaving the room once more. 

Anders got up Maker knows how much later, unable to ignore the painful rumblings of his stomach any longer. Fenris was sitting at the table, clutching his fist. Hearing Anders footsteps, he looked up to see a confused, tired mage in front of him. “I, uh...I need healing,” he said quietly. Anders raised an eyebrow. This was, decidedly, not what he expected to walk into. “Why?”

Fenris extended the hand he had been clutching. His knuckles were torn and bloody, and his pinky looked like it could be broken. Anders’ eyes widened. “What in Andraste’s name did you do?” 

“I hit a wall.” 

“I’m sorry, you  _ what _ ?”    
“I hit a wall. Please heal my hand, so I can hold my sword correctly.”    
Anders felt a smirk twitch at the corner of his mouth, fighting to get out, as those muscles were out of use. “I wouldn’t want you to lose use of your...sword…” Anders said carefully, the teasing tone he attempted to create feeling foreign in his throat. He immediately regretted it and turned away after spreading a quick healing spell over the warrior’s hand. Fenris did not appear amused. Anders hesitantly met his eyes. He had expected disgust or anger. He saw neither. Instead, he saw an expression he couldn’t remember ever seeing from the elf: grief. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i know, this is a really short chapter, but the scene felt contained and i felt that it needed to simmer on its own.

It was Anders’ turn to be kept up at night by a pair of eyes. When Fenris looked up at him with that pained look Anders had been completely knocked off guard. In fact, he had panicked and swiftly exited. The elf’s grief had inspired a feeling of guilt he did not expect, one that he was not prepared to deal with. From Fenris, Anders was practiced at handling rage, disdain, judgement, murderous intent...but grief? Pity? Anders rolled over to his other side on his bedroll. His back ached, as it had for two years. Another dull punishment he inflicted on himself while he waited to die. _Why should I feel guilty? He has wanted to kill me for years. He made sure I knew that every day in Kirkwall. Serves him right for being upset about it now. Stupid elf, coming to his senses at the most inconvenient possible time. Typical. I never understood why Hawke--_ His thoughts screeched to a halt. Hawke. He squeezed his eyes shut, but now instead of Fenris’ grief he saw Hawke’s love, twinkling in a set of bright blue irises. His throat thickened with unspent tears. He tried so hard not to think of her these past two year. With her, his guilt was overwhelming. She had trusted him so completely, and he had betrayed her _utterly_ . And still, she defended his cause. _I wonder what Hawke is doing now. I wonder if Fenris knows_ . He sat up sharply, pressing his hands against his face. _No. Don’t go there_ . _It’s better not to know_. Anders knew he wouldn’t sleep again that night, but he laid back down, wrapping his arms around himself, trying desperately not to see anyones eyes, green or blue. 

***

Anders had tried to make a joke, but Fenris couldn’t bring himself to laugh. He felt the warm healing energy repair his hand, and all he could think about was the man Anders no longer was. Memories he didn’t realize he had prickled at the back of his mind. _Anders’ furrowed brow as he cared for a young patient. Anders rolling his eyes as I refuse healing magic. Anders healing me anyway. It's warm. Anders laughing. That’s warm too. Justice is cold_ . Fenris shuddered. Anders was all coldness now, but his magic still felt like the sun after a storm. _I should say something_. But Fenris said nothing. The beginnings of sentences formed and died in his throat, and he just...stared. Too long apparently, as the mage made a swift exit. 

Fenris sighed, and laid his head on the table. _What am I_ **_doing_ ** _here?_ He struggled to find an answer, to make it make sense that he was camping out front of _Anders_ ’ cottage on the far end of Ferelden in the middle of a war, in order to...what? He didn’t need protecting, his demon took care of that. Nothing Fenris did mattered. _Why do I want it to_? 

When Anders woke up the next morning, Fenris was sitting at the table tapping his leg furiously. “Good morning?” Anders murmured, pulling out the other chair a little further than he needed to, keeping a cautious distance from the elf. Fenris grunted and stared at the ground for a moment, then looked up and met Anders’ eyes. There was some kind of conflict there, but Anders couldn’t place what sort. Finally, the elf broke the silence. “Did you really think I wanted you tranquil?” 

Anders' eyes widened. Of all the questions he imagined Fenris would ask him on this strange visit, that was not one he would have ever predicted. “I, uh...I guess? I vaguely remember you saying as much.” Anders shrugged. He had accepted long ago that the elf hated him that much, but had adopted a civil apathy towards it in response. He had to, for Hawke. Besides, Anders never had the time to hate him back. 

Fenris dropped his gaze back to the ground and looked almost...ashamed? Anders furrowed his brow. _No, that can’t be it_ . _How tired is he?_

“I…” Fenris croaked, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Fenris, it’s fine, we don’t have to hash out old shit just because you feel guilty that I’m…” Anders gestured at his generally pitiful appearance. “I get it. I didn’t fit your vision of killable and now you’re having a moral crisis.” For some reason, Anders felt himself getting angry. _Old habits die hard_. “Now, if you don’t mind, can you please let me enjoy my self-loathing by my--” 

“I never hated you,” Fenris interrupted, so quietly Anders barely heard him. 

Anders rant caught in his chest, once again stunned by what was coming out of Fenris’ mouth. “I don’t think I heard you right, because I could have sworn you said--”

“I never hated you. I don’t hate you now.”

Anders laughed. “Please, I may be suicidal but I’m not delusional. I told you, I don’t want your pity.” 

Fenris stood up suddenly and slammed his fists on the table. “Fenhedis! You fool mage, quiet your insufferable mouth and listen to me for one _moment_.” 

Anders narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. Cutting word after word came to mind, but he decided to let the elf speak...for no longer than the one moment he had asked for. 

After a beat of silence, Fenris sighed, relaxing his palms against the table. “There are many things about you I find utterly intolerable. That you agreed to join with a demon does not speak well of you. You often act before you think, whether with words or with... well. And you place your own struggle over the struggles of others.”   
Anders winced, and started a retort. “You’re not exactly strengthening your case here.” 

“ _Hush,_ ” Fenris hissed. “Despite my...frustrations with your behavior, I did not _hate_ you. I tried to, but how could I hate someone who kept me alive battle after battle despite the vitriol I threw your way? You are a good man, when your demon allows you to be. On that day…” Fenris swallowed. He hadn’t planned on saying so much, but one mantra kept repeating in his mind: do what Hawke would do. He exhaled. “I thought you had lost yourself completely. I came here to kill _Justice_ , not you.” Fenris paused, then sat back down. “You may speak now,” he said gruffly. 

Anders was staring. And, damn that elf, tears were pooling in the corner of his eyes. He stood up and turned, hoping he could wipe them away without being noticed. _You are a good man_. The compliments felt like poison under his skin. He wanted to claw them out and give them back. They didn’t fit. 

When Anders didn’t respond, Fenris realized he had something to add. “And, I would never, _ever_ , wish tranquility on you, or on anyone for that matter. All those years ago...I spoke in anger, unthinkingly, with only Danarius and Hadriana in mind. Death turned out to be a more fitting punishment. I’m…I’m sorry, Anders, and I should have said this sooner.” 

Anders felt like he was going to be sick. Maybe he was in the Fade and some demon was offering him pity from the one man who would never have given it...before...just to, what, twist the cold knife of guilt further into his heart? No, this was Fenris. He had always known precisely what to say to pull at Anders’ worst impulses--guilt, anger, insecurity. The worst part was, that he didn’t do it on purpose. He just...existed...and caused Anders to twist in on himself. He couldn’t take it. 

“Get out,” he said roughly. 

“What?”

“I said, _get out_.” He couldn’t look Fenris in the eye, but he needed him to leave. Maybe if his body walked away, his words would go with him, and stop ringing in the mind of a broken mage. 

Anders heard the chair scrape against the ground, and a string of tevene profanities followed Fenris out the door which slammed behind him. 

**_That was unjust_ **, Justice intoned silently. “Oh, shut up.”


	5. Chapter 5

Fenris walked out Anders’ front door and didn’t stop until he hit the coast. He stared out across the gulf between Amaranthine and Blackmarsh. His fists were clenched, his body vibrating with pent up rage.  _ It must be rage. What else would make me feel like my blood is boiling, like I will burst if I don’t keep moving. Like my skin is trying to run from me.  _ Fenris loosed a guttural scream, dropping to his knees and digging his hands into the sand.  _ What is wrong with me? _ He pounded the earth with his fist.  _ Stupid, stupid fool elf. I should just leave. I should return to my work, forget this place, forget… _ Eyes upon eyes summoned themselves to his consciousness, the empty eyes of Justice forming a palimpsest with a pair of honey colored eyes framed by laugh lines, overtaken once more by eyes void of life, both human and demonic.  _ “Kaffas,”  _ Fenris hissed, digging the heel of his hand further into the ground.  _ How did it come to this? How did I go from wanting to pull the man’s heart from his chest to-- _ Fenris stopped his train of thought with a shake of the head. Had he ever actually wanted to kill Anders? Justice, perhaps, but Fenris knew what he said to the mage was the truth. He had assumed he’d find an abomination, in the fullest sense of the term. Instead, he found a man so overcome by his humanity that he couldn’t bear to live anymore. Fenris raised his eyes to take in the dark expanse of water, and dropped down to sit.  _ He must want to live. He will _ . Fenris promised silently to himself, to Anders, to Hawke, to Kirkwall. This is how the demon would be defeated. 

***

The first day Fenris didn’t return, Anders was glad. He curled inside himself, warmed by indignance and resentment, cursing the elf’s name. The second day, guilt crept into the edges of his anger, blurring the strokes of his anger. When he slept that night, the cloud of fear drifted in. Amaranthine wasn’t as dangerous as Kirkwall, but lots of things could happen to an elf covered in lyrium in the middle of a war between mages and templars. The third day, he despaired. He was sure Fenris was lying dead in a ditch somewhere and that it was his fault.  _ Another life on your hands killed by your lack of control. And for what did you send him away? For being kind. What kind of monster does that?  _ What was worse, Anders realized as the sun set, was that Fenris was almost certainly  _ not _ dead. He had just left, taking Anders at his word, and returned to his own life.  _ Good riddance, _ he thought out of habit, but loneliness weighed heavy on his heart. For the first time in a long time, he craved, just slightly, interaction.  _ I must be desperate, to grieve the absence of the first person to walk through the door. And whatever moment of pity driven insanity led him to believe he doesn’t hate you has surely evaporated now. Good work, Anders. At least now I can forget about maybe not hating him since he’s-- _ His internal monologue ground to a halt at the sound of a door creaking open and a low gravelly voice muttering words he could not hear. Anders crept towards his door, and opened it just enough to expand his hearing. It was unmistakably Fenris, but he was apparently not alone. He was speaking to someone, almost...cooing? Or pleading? Anders couldn’t tell. Not ready for confrontation, he crawled back onto his bedroll and tried his best to look asleep. To his surprise, he heard light footsteps coming towards him, and his own door open with a creak. Something was placed on the ground, and the door closed again. Anders heard movement across the floor, and he sat up quickly, but couldn’t find its source. He shook his head and laid back down, turning over to face the opposite wall. To his complete, and utter shock, he was faced with a small mass of grey fur, from which two amber eyes stared back at him. Anders could barely process what he was seeing before he heard what was, at that point, the most beautiful sound in the entire world--a soft, inquisitive trill. Anders slowly reached out his hand, and the kitten curiously nuzzled his fingers. For the first time in a long time, Anders truly smiled. Fenris sat in the hall, his back pressed against the closed door. He waited and listened, and as the barely audible murmurs of delight reached his ears, he too smiled for the first time in a long time. He slid the piece of paper he had been rolling along his fingers under the door, and returned to his tent. Anders, completely enthralled by the kitten which inexplicably appeared in his room, did not find the paper until morning. Confused, he opened it, and saw a messy yet carefully crafted scrawl. 

_ "Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing, _

_ An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown. _

_ You have forgotten, spear-maid of Alamarr. _

_ Within My creation, none are alone.” _

Anders didn’t see Fenris for a week, but he knew he had been inside each day. Slowly, his cabinets began to fill with simple foods and a saucer of milk sat outside his door for the kitten each morning when he got up. The cottage slowly became less dusty, and brighter. The paint and weathering that had sealed the windows from disuse had been cracked and a gentle breeze seeped through his home. The curtains started getting drawn, and although Anders initially winced at the increase in light, he started to enjoy the gentle warmth on his skin. One morning, he woke to a new blanket draped over him. It was soft and utterly unlike the scratchy, thin piece of fabric he had been using thus far.  _ How in Andraste’s name did he manage that? _ Anders wondered, but didn’t dare question further, as if acknowledging these small acts to Fenris’s face would break the spell of his kindness and send him away. Anders greedily kept them too himself. 

  
Fenris took pleasure in the fact that he and Anders were not yelling at each other. Anders rarely came out of his room, but Fenris kept himself out of sight when he did. A hidden benefit of the kitten was that it made it difficult for Anders to move anywhere silently or quickly. Fenris smiled to himself when he heard the low, melodic tones of Anders sweet talking the feline. He wondered what the mage would name it. Secretly, Fenris had been calling it Merrill, partly because of the doe eyed way it looked at people, and partly because the cat had scratched him so hard when he found him that it drew blood. The kitten had not been part of the plan. After Fenris left at Anders’ behest, he wandered the coast back to the town of Amaranthine, unsure of what he should do next. He wanted to do  _ something _ to improve the mage’s outlook, but was certain his presence was not part of that. He did odd jobs for the bartender, washing dishes and such, for a room, and wandered the marketplace when he wasn’t working. He had been browsing a clothing stand when he felt something brush against his foot. Instinctively, he spun around into a defensive posture, but saw no one behind him. When the sensation moved up his ankle, he looked down, and saw a small grey cat with amber eyes looking up at him. The cat’s fur was matted, and it looked hungry, yet interminably curious. It pawed at Fenris’ leggings and mewed for attention. Fenris smiled. The cat’s eyes reminded him of Anders, before. He reached down to pick up the kitten, who upon reaching the level of his face, hissed and scratched his cheek. Fenris grumbled.  _ Yes, just like Anders _ . The kitten decided this small warning was enough, and happily perched on Fenris’ shoulder, claws locked in the feathery shapes of his pauldrons. Fenris took pleasure in bringing the kitten milk each morning, but he did not see it, for as he anticipated Anders had taken to it immediately.  _ A cat makes much more pleasant company than me _ , Fenris mused, satisfied with himself. Each day, milk placed, Fenris did a small bit of tidying, opened the windows, brightened the place, went to the market for food, did  _ something _ to make the place more livable. The irony did not escape him, as Danarius’ mansion had still held desiccated corpses the day he fled Kirkwall. At the same time, he was not unaware that the state of his home had affected his mental state. In any case, it was the only thing he could think of to do. It seemed  _ right _ . It seemed like something Hawke would do. Fenris would then return to the Crown & Lion, doing what he could for a small bit of coin, and then browsing the marketplace for things the mage might need. He was particularly proud of finding a simple, soft quilt in a pale blue that would compliment Anders’ eyes.  _ Eyes do not matter in blankets, _ he reminded himself, and pushed the aesthetic note from his mind. The danger of waking up the mage had been less than he realized, as he carefully opened the door the mage was dead asleep. Fenris wondered how much he had been sleeping before Fenris got there.  _ Not enough. He never slept enough.  _ He gently laid the blanket down over Anders, careful not to startle the kitten snuggled in the crook of the mage’s neck. An unfamiliar heaviness was suddenly present in Fenris’ stomach, carrying with it an urge to brush the stray locks of golden hair away from closed eyes. Fenris shuttered, and turned quickly from the sleeping Anders, hoping the feeling would stay in the room as he left. Upon closing the door, he sighed. His stomach still felt filled with rocks. He resolved to go back to his tent and sleep, and he did, but not before imagining the feel of fingertips against skin more times than he cared to admit. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Fenris fight, again, only this time, they have an interloper.

Then one day, Fenris didn’t hear Anders opening his door fast enough to make his routine escape. He was halfway out the door when--

“Fenris! Wait.” 

Fenris stopped, keeping his back to the mage. He was silent. In all his work over the past week, he hadn’t really considered what would happen when he was asked to explain himself. It had been foolish to imagine he’d be able to stay out of sight forever--or, however long he kept this up. 

Anders swallowed. He hadn’t really had an idea of what to say. An instinct held him still, to keep up the wall between them that he had created when he threw Fenris out in the first place. It was safe behind walls.

Fenris turned his head just enough to look at Anders through the corner of his eye. All things considered, he looked better. Slightly more rested, and his clothes were clean. “I have stayed out as much as possible, I trust that is in keeping with the spirit of your...request,” Fenris said, voice low and careful. 

Anders nodded. 

Many moments of awkward silence passed between them, before Anders blurted out: “What are you doing, Fenris?” 

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “I was just leaving…” 

“No, I mean, what are you doing here?” 

“I told you, I don’t know, except it is what Hawke would do.” 

“You’ve said that, but it doesn’t explain…” Anders gestured about the room, noticeably cleaner than it had been in months. “And it certainly doesn’t explain that,” he added, pointing a finger at his feet. Fenris glanced down, and saw the small grey kitten peeking out from behind the mage’s ankle. The elf couldn’t help a small smile that he dropped quickly as his eyes returned to the door. 

Anders sighed. “Alright, don’t talk to me. All I meant was...was…” he hesitated, but finished quietly, “thank you.” 

Fenris felt a slight warmth at the back of his neck and a twist in his stomach. Before he could respond, the mage continued. 

“I just don’t understand.” There was a tinge of fear to his voice that startled Fenris. He pressed his hand against the door frame, shoulders hunched with tension. 

“I cannot tell you what I do not know, mage,” he replied sternly. “I am sorry to cause you distress. If you wish me to…” Fenris grunted in frustration. It was as though something was buried in his own mind, a feeling he could not identify, obscured in thick fog. It called to him, and he couldn’t reach it. He was as confused about his behavior as Anders appeared to be. He was not a nurturing person. He hadn’t cleaned his own home. He certainly had never had an interest in  _ cats _ . The heat on his neck spread throughout his body, and his frustration slowly turned to anger--at himself, at the mage, even at the damned cat. He turned to face the mage, fists clenched. “You are being foolish.” 

Anders’ eyes widened. “ _ Excuse me _ ?” 

“I am...fixing this abominable excuse for living quarters with no inconvenience to you. Why can’t you just accept it and go on with your life?” 

“Did you really just say abominable?” 

Fenris groaned disdainfully. “You are impossible.” 

“ _ I’m  _ impossible? You come to  _ my _ home looking to kill me, and then decide for apparently  _ no reason _ that you don’t want me to die, despite the fact that you have hated me the entire time you’ve known me. Maybe it’s some kind of bizarre morality that I don’t understand. Fine. But you are now camping in my front yard and sneaking in and out to...clean? And where in the name of Andraste did you get the CAT?”

Despite himself, Fenris slowly started to grin. 

“ _ What? _ ” Anders hissed, exasperated. 

“You were yourself for a moment.” 

Anders blinked, taken aback for a moment. He brought a hand to his hip, challenging: “Oh? And what would you know about that?” 

Regret and something else, something that pulled, pounded in Fenris’ chest. “I think we have more in common than we wanted to admit. Hawke always thought so.” 

Something dark passed over Anders’ eyes. “Hawke thought a lot of things,” he muttered, dropping his gaze and his hand.

“Have you...tried to contact her?” 

Anders laughed. “Elizabeth Hawke wants nothing to do with me. For all she cared I might as well have died in that explosion. She just didn’t want my blood on  _ her  _ hands.”

Fenris frowned. “I don’t think that’s true. She loved you.” 

Anders shook his head. “She loved who she thought I was, selfless and self-sacrificing. She didn’t love me.” 

“You mean she didn’t love your  _ demon _ .” 

Anders glared. “Justice and I are one. I took a spirit into my soul and changed myself forever. Justice and Anders ceased to be long ago. You’ve always known this, though.” Anders stretched out his arms with a bitter smirk spreading across his face. “I am an abomination.”

Before he realized what he was doing, Fenris’ open palm was colliding with Anders’ cheek. Twin looks of shock passed between them before Anders’ eyes narrowed and he reached forward to shove the elf backwards. Unprepared, Fenris stumbled. 

“What is  _ wrong _ with you?” Anders snapped. “I’ve clearly been asking the wrong questions, because you must be some kind of demon.”

Fenris growled, shoving the mage back. “Hold your tongue, mage.” 

"Or  _ what _ ?” he sneered. “You’ll kill me?” 

Fenris scoffed, throwing his hands in the air and turning away. 

“I don’t understand why me agreeing with you after all this time makes you so angry. You should be ecstatic. Jumping for joy. Praising Andraste. You should--” 

“I was wrong,” Fenris interrupted. 

Anders was silent. 

Fenris turned to look at him once more. “Do you hear me? I was  _ wrong _ . You are not an abomination. Look at you. You are hardly malformed and hideous. You healed in Darktown for years with no hope for pay or power. And then, you weren’t you. Do you remember what you said? You said Vengeance took you over. That you  _ couldn’t stop him _ . You said he had become a demon, that  _ he _ was responsible. Not you. Not Anders.”

Anders’ eyes burned. He didn’t remember. He searched his mind to correct Fenris, to tell him he had taken responsibility, but the memory was lost to him. He felt something keeping it from him. Something must have changed in his expression, because Fenris was suddenly in front of him, gripping his shoulders. 

“Mage? Are you alright?” 

“I don’t--I can’t remember. I know I spoke, I know Hawke sent me away, but I don’t know what I said to her, what I felt.” 

“Look at me,” Fenris said firmly. “Anders, you knew he was a demon. You said so. Fight him. Just f--” 

Fenris was thrust backwards by a burst of blue light. He was flat on his back, covering his eyes from the light. When they adjusted, he saw Anders-- _ Justice-- _ standing over him. Skin covered with blue cracks, and dead blue eyes, just like the day the chantry fell. 

“ **_YOU WILL STOP TELLING LIES._ ** **”** The demon’s voice echoed through the small cottage. 

“I tell no lies, demon,” Fenris spat. 

Fenris expected him to argue, to admonish him for calling him a demon, but instead, a sickly, unnatural grin spread, stretching Anders’ mouth in a way that did not fit his face.  **“** **_YOU WILL STOP, BECAUSE IF YOU DON’T, I WILL LET HIM DIE.”_ **

Fenris was overcome with terror, then rage. “I will kill you, I WILL--” he lunged at Justice. A booming laugh filled his mind as a pulse of magic threw him back once more. He groaned, his head throbbing, but he pushed through, leaping to his feet, brands blaring. Justice stood defiantly in the middle of the room, arms crossed.  _ “ _ **_AND WHAT DO YOU PLAN TO DO?”_ ** Something in the air shifted, and Fenris heard Justice’s--no,  _ his own _ , voice in his mind: “ **_I no longer want to kill you_ ** **.”**

Fenris pressed his hands to his ears, squeezing his eyes shut and screaming in protest. Justice laughed again, and the room dimmed. His eyes snapped open, and he saw Anders’ body begin to fall. He scrambled to his side and caught him, sliding them both to the floor. “Mage? Anders?” He shook the unconscious mage for the second time since he’d been there. This time, Anders did not wake up, but he was breathing. Fenris exhaled, and realized he was shaking. He pulled the mage against him, so as to feel the steady heat of his breath against his neck, reassuring him that Anders was still alive. He sat, and shook, and swallowed the tears burning his eyes until they turned to fire in his chest. 

***

Anders woke up with a stiff neck. He groaned, moving to raise his hand to it, and quickly realized he was not on his bedroll. More importantly, he was not alone. His head was on something warm. Legs? He looked up, and saw a sleeping elf leaned against the wall.  _ What in Andraste’s white knickers... _ He rubbed his eyes and sat up. Looking himself up and down, he quickly ascertained that he was not injured. He looked at Fenris. He didn’t appear to be hurt either.  _ What the hell happened? _ He remembered arguing about...something. What  _ were _ they arguing about? He touched his cheek, and the tender skin reminded him he had been hit... _ hard _ . Had they knocked each other out? Anders tried to get up carefully, but despite his efforts he bumped the elf and he woke up with a start. “Sorry,” he started to grumble, before Fenris jerked away from him, a frantic look in his eyes. “Woah, woah! Fenris! What’s the matter with you?”

Fenris took a deep breath and his shoulders relaxed. “It’s just you.” 

“Who else would it be? Maker’s breath. What the hell happened anyway?”

  
Fenris’ expression softened, but he still looked...afraid? Worried? The emotion was difficult to place.  _ Maybe he was having a nightmare. Must be it _ . 

Fenris didn’t respond for far too long. 

Anders put his hands on his hips impatiently. “Well? The last thing I remember we’re arguing, you hit me in the face, and then I wake up in your lap. You going to explain?” 

“Justice--” Fenris winced. “Justice, uh, took issue with my hitting you. He emerged. He...stopped me, I don’t know about the rest.” 

Anders cocked his head, studying the elf. He was speaking at an odd pace, as if he were remembering something he heard somewhere else.  _ What reason would he have to lie _ ? 

**_THE ELF SPEAKS THE TRUTH._ ** Justice spoke to Anders alone. The mage shrugged. “Ah, well. Guess you learned then. I’m going to bed. Where’s--ah.” He bent down and scooped the kitten into his arms before returning to his room, leaving the strange elf behind. Fenris stayed on the ground for some time, unsure what to do. The lies lingered like bile in his throat, but he couldn’t shake Justice’s threat.  **_I WILL LET HIM DIE._ ** Whether a memory, or the demon, he did not know. He snarled, pounding against his temple. “I will defeat you,” he promised under his breath. “Before the Maker I will free him from you.’ 


	7. Chapter 7

**_9:37 Dragon_ **

Anders watched Hawke’s back retreat in shock. He could not will himself to move. His mind was at war with itself, or maybe, with Justice. He couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began anymore. Yet, he had told Hawke this was  _ Vengeance’s doing _ . Vengeance, not Justice. 

**_YOU LIED._ **

The clear, isolated voice of Justice rang out as it hadn’t in months. Anders winced, Justice’s forward presence applying a throbbing pressure at his temple. He pressed the heel of his hand to it out of instinct, but he knew it was a meaningless gesture.  _ You’re...there? What lie?  _

**_I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN HERE, BUT WE ARE BOUND, ONE. WE ARE JUSTICE._ **

Anders shook his head.  _ This...This is not Justice. I don’t even remember planting the explosive. I remember telling Hawke I had changed my mind. _

The memory played clearly, as if it had been yesterday. 

_ “If you want mages to be free, you have to convince people you’re  _ **_not_ ** _ dangerous!”  _

_ “Impossible.”  _ _   
_ _ “All you’re doing is proving the templars right!”  _

_ “Do you know how long I’ve been telling them that? Mage after mage in Kirkwall turning to blood magic, because it’s “easy.” I always said they were their own worst enemies, but I never thought I--”  _

He remembered something he hadn’t noticed before. A strain, a tension that followed his words, as if someone was tugging on his coat trying to pull him away. At the time, he had remembered  _ thinking _ mages had to do better, but when had he actually voiced it? 

_ “There’s still time to stop whatever you’re planning,”  _ Marian had said, gentle, pleading. He knew so much more than politics rode on those words. He had told her that if she loved him, she could not abandon him in this, but he had lied. They both knew that even love could not withstand what he had planned--what he  _ did _ . 

_ “Yes…”  _ he had murmured.  _ “Maybe there’s still time.”  _ A searing pain forced him to press his eyes shut, in the memory and in present. He gasped and cried out, nearly falling back off the crate.  _ What the hell was that? _

Justice was silent for long enough that Anders shuddered, terrified that somehow the spirit had finally been torn from him. 

Finally, the loud, even voice spoke again.  **_DEMANDING HAWKE CARRY OUT OUR DEATH WAS UNJUST. WE MUST HEED HER REQUEST AND LEAVE, ALIVE._ **

_ We have to help, we have to do something.  _

**_YOU WILL BE KILLED._ **

_ So what? We agreed--my death would bring justice to those innocents killed because of our actions.  _

**_I WAS INCORRECT._ **

_ Excuse me? No, we have to stay. We have to help them.  _

**_NO_ ** _.  _ The command filled Anders with dread, but before he could determine why, he was blinded by a flash of blue light and taken by darkness. 

***

Anders awoke in the dark, gently swinging back and forth on a hammock that smelled distinctly of fish. He sat up too quickly, and slammed his head on the ceiling above him. He groaned. “Where am I?”  _ Justice?  _

There was no response, so Anders slid down onto his feet and tried to take in his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was that he was still moving, the floor rocking beneath him.  _ I’m on a ship? Why? _

As far as he could tell, he had no injuries. His staff was leaned against the wall behind where he had been apparently sleeping, He was still wearing his coat.  _ This is not a prison _ . He ran his hands against the wall, uncomfortably close to its opposite, until he found a door and pushed it open.  _ I am definitely on a ship _ . He stepped out of the room and walked until he found another person. “Excuse me!” he called out, trying his best to sound casual. 

The sailor stepped forward, “Yes, serah? Do you need something?” 

_ Definitely not a prison.  _ “I was, uh, wondering if you could remind me of the docking schedule, just once more?” 

The sailor hesitated. “Well, yes I suppose, serah. We dock first at the Storm Coast, this evening, and then onward to Amaranthine.” 

Anders’ eyes widened briefly before he swallowed his reaction and nodded. “Thank you,” he sputtered, and turned on his heels, rushing back to the room he had woken in. 

_ Justice, you want to explain how I got on a ship to fucking Amaranthine? _

Anders grunted in frustration when Justice continued to stay silent. He sat on the floor and rubbed his eyes, searching for some trace of Justice within him. He sat there, until he drifted back to sleep. 

**_9:40 Dragon_ **

Anders had grown to hate dreaming. He imagined that most already possessed people didn’t attract this many demons as they slept, but his journeys through the Fade were plagued by demons of despair and rage. They wore Hawke’s face, or Elthina’s. Sometimes they wore Meredith’s, taunting him to finish what he started. His least favorite was, as they did tonight, they appeared looking eerily like himself. A younger Anders stood at a distance, clothed in Tevinter style robes, including a much cleaner version of his feathered jacket that was currently collecting dust in the corner of his room. The young man appeared with bright eyes, unframed by dark circles and glinting with mischief. 

“Andraste’s tits, I have not aged well,” he sneered. Anders rolled his eyes. 

“This self-loathing exercise is a bit on the nose, wouldn’t you say?” The space around them shifted, and they sat on the grounds of Vigil’s Keep. 

“We had such a good thing going, here. Shame you had to go and ruin it. You and Justice. Look how that turned out,” the young mage sighed. 

“Given that you have all my memories, you know that this wasn’t Justice’s fault.” 

The demon wearing Anders’ face raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Wasn’t it? You made a fool decision then, joining with him. Look what he’s done. Poor, poor misguided Justice.” 

Anders huffed. “It’s not Justice’s fault I polluted us both with my anger, that I couldn’t control him in the end. As Fenris always said, I am weak. I always have been.” He looked over the apparition thoughtfully. “Despair, I’m assuming?” 

The young Anders bowed his head with a smirk. “In a sense. There’s no point in secrets. I can not take you while  _ darling  _ Justice hold’s that seat. But your sorrow is too delicious to avoid.” 

The site of his own tongue drawing over his lips with a hungry look in his eyes was unsettling, to say the least. Anders turned away with a half-hearted chuckle. “Yes, yes, the guilt of a murderer always is.”

The despair demon laughed. “Guilt is so  _ banal _ . The hopelessness of fear is more to my...tastes.”

Anders swallowed. The demon was right. He was afraid. Afraid of himself? Yes, but there was something else. An ache in his stomach that he couldn’t quite name. 

“Help me help you,” the demon crooned in his voice. Free yourself from this pain. I can kill Justice for you. Let me take your despair…” 

“No!” he snapped, standing quickly, suddenly aware of his legs, his body. “Justice isn’t...It’s not Justice’s fault.”   
He--the demon--laughed. “Oh your poor poor boy. How thoroughly you have been deceived.” 

Anders shuddered. “Can you at least stop looking like me? It’s...disconcerting.” 

The demon grinned at him, and with a quick swish of his hand, the form shifted. It’s limbs shortened and firmed, his hair grew and faded into a stark white. His eyes were a deep green.  _ Fenris _ . Fenris stared back at him. 

“What--Why--” he sputtered. He looked around him. “Did you switch with rage too?” 

The demon walked towards him. “He fills you with such sorrow,” Fenris murmured. In an instant, he was pressed against his chest, brushing a finger down his cheek. Anders pushed him away. “Stop,” he hissed. 

“You are already content to despair forever, just let me...have a taste.” The demon leaned forward once more, and licked a slow line up the side of Anders’ face. He tensed before sighing into the touch. The demon wrapped a hand around the back of his head, pulling their foreheads together. 

“Let me help you, Anders.” Fenris' voice curled around him like a warm blanket. No doubt enhanced by the Fade, and this was not a real elf cradling his head, he became acutely aware of the fact that he hadn’t been touched this way in years. The kind of touch that communicated presence, that you are seen. It was utterly overwhelming. Anders pulled back harshly, the demon cocking its head and looking at him with--likely feigned--pity. More than any of the other promises these demons had made him as he dreamed, he felt painfully drawn in by the promise of touch, of being seen. For the first time since he had come to Amaranthine, since Hawke turned him away, he remembered he was alive--more than “not yet dead.”  _ I am alive _ . And it was painful. In that moment, the guilt, the fear, was overpowering. He cried out and dropped to his knees, holding his face in his hands. The demon sucked in a breath and groaned in pleasure. “Oh, this will do nicely,” it crooned. Inexplicably, it then started calling his name. Over, and over, his name echoed through his mind in Fenris’ voice. He glanced up, and the demon was still laughing and groaning, but not speaking. Then he was laying on his back, eyes squeezed shut, and his throat  _ hurt _ . He was drenched with sweat, and he felt the weight of hands shaking his shoulders. He opened his eyes and flailed his arm widely, throwing off his assailant and springing up, heart racing and still reeling from his dream. His eyes focused, and it was Fenris crouched at the end of his bedroll, hands held forward defensively. 

“Mage, focus. You are not in danger. You were having a nightmare.”    
Anders tried to take a deep breath as his eyes flitted around the room. “I’m not...No, I’m still dreaming. You’re not--” he shook his head. 

Fenris slowly scooted forward, his hand still reaching towards the shaking mage. “This is real. Why wouldn’t I be real?” 

Anders kept a wary eye on Fenris’ hand, now almost grazing his arm.  _ Real. I am awake. I am-- _ His stomach lurched as he remembered what he had awoken from.  _ Fenris’ hand on his cheek. Foreheads touching. Alive. I am alive _ . Anders felt the panic return, creeping up his body. His skin was vibrating, on fire. He suddenly wasn’t sure if he remembered how to breathe. Every noise was too loud, every point of contact too much. He tried to focus on something, anything. He felt like he was drowning in sensation. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t find the point to release it. Everything was building, the pressure greater and greater on every nerve. He shuddered violently at the feel of a hand on his shoulder. It was too much, too much contact, too much  _ feeling _ . “Anders?” the source of the hand said softly. Or, maybe it was loud, but the sound was muffled, both close and far away. As the hand squeezed slightly, Anders realized he was holding his breath, exhaling and gasping. 

“Anders, please breathe.” 

_ Anders. AndersAndersAnders. Anders. I am Anders. I am alive. I am Anders. _

Fenris stared into the mage’s panicked eyes, his own adrenaline picking up by the minute. Before the sun rose, he had been startled awake by screaming so broken he thought someone was dying. When he realized the sound was coming from less than thirty feet away, he was out of the tent so fast that the covering caught and clattered to the ground. He threw open the door to the mage’s room, scaring the kitten he had not yet named into the corner. Anders was thrashing, sweating, and  _ screaming _ , like he was being pulled apart from the inside. The longer it took Fenris to wake him up, the more terrified he became, that Justice had gotten bored with keeping him alive, that he was being destroyed and there was nothing Fenris could do about it. He shook him harder, and harder, until his eyes finally flew open, and he pushed away. Despite himself, he was now so close to the mage that their knees were touching, clutching the fabric around so tightly that his knuckles blanched. “Anders, please breathe,” he pleaded, hoping his voice didn’t betray the fear eating away at his chest. 

Anders took a deep breath, and Fenris exhaled. He relaxed his grip on the mage’s shirt, his left hand keeping the lightest touch on his shoulder. “It was just a nightmare,” Fenris soothed, unsure who he meant to convince. Anders turned up his eyes, brimming with emotion, to meet Fenris’ concerned gaze. He lingered for a moment, before he pulled that expression into himself, and jumped to his feet, walking to the corner and turning his back to Fenris. “I’m fine,” he muttered hoarsely. Fenris watched him carefully.  _ I should leave. I should leave him be. _ Yet, as he repeated this to himself, he stood, and approached the mage, whose shoulders had started to shake slightly through poorly hidden tears.  _ Leave _ . He wrapped his arms around him. 

  
Anders tensed for a moment.  _ I’m still in the Fade. This isn’t-- _ His thoughts sputtered. If the touch of the demon-Fenris had been roaring flame, it was a hot spring he was now covered by. The warmth of the embrace flowed through him, and he relaxed into it. His weight sagged and Fenris pulled him closer, holding them both upright. The tears he had been unable to free in his dream burst forth. Fenris let them sink to the ground, holding the mage still as his body wracked with sobs. Neither of them spoke, but Fenris held him until the mage was exhausted from crying, heaving ragged breaths. Fenris rested his chin on the mage’s golden head, and closed his eyes.  _ I should leave.  _ He continued to tell himself, all the while holding Anders closer and closer. Something deep inside him kept him at this spot, something that ached and burned as he realized those screams belonged to Anders, the same thing. He would wonder later, if it was the same thing that had compelled him toward Amaranthine in the first place. 


	8. Chapter 8

Anders and Fenris fell asleep in a tangle of tear soaked limbs. Fenris hadn’t planned to sleep on the floor holding the mage, but as he held him, the steady rhythm of their breath together lulled both men into a restful slumber. Anders woke up thinking he was still in a dream, only the pleasant kind. He was warm, had slept through the night, and the previous afternoon’s crying had lifted a weight off his chest. The spell was broken when he glanced down, and saw the faint glow of lyrium running down the hands that wrapped around his chest. Anders slid out of Fenris’ arms, crawling to the wall opposite them and leaning his head back against it. 

Fenris stirred at the sudden loss of body heat, and opened his eyes with a groan of discomfort. “Mage?” he mumbled wistfully. 

Anders’ memories rushed back--memories of the demon’s torment, of the panic he awoke to, of Fenris comforting him, holding him. He couldn’t help but stare at the elf as he slowly drifted out of sleep. All of Anders’ memories of Fenris were full of hard edges and biting words. He remembered desperately seeking the elf’s approval, and lashing out when it was not received. He remembered resenting the easy confidence with which he carried himself through battle. Sometimes, he envied his lack of magic and warrior’s strength. Now, Fenris lay on the floor in front of him, lazily propping himself up on his elbows, and peering over through a mess of white hair. Fenris’ hair had gotten longer in the past two years, Anders noted. It was usually twisted back, but the night’s sleep had freed half of it from the tie and it stuck to Fenris’ face. Fenris looked healthy, a stark contrast with Anders’ deteriorating physique, a fact that for once made the mage feel sick to his stomach. He realized his eyes were trailing down the lines of lyrium on Fenris’ back disappearing past a waistband.  _ Maker _ ,  _ he’s half naked _ , Anders realized, a soft blush blooming up his neck, and turned away. Fenris noted the mage’s sudden embarrassment first, before also noting his lack of shirt. “Ah, sorry,” he mumbled, sitting up and crossing his legs in front of him. “I was...The time it would have taken to find a shirt felt like a waste.” 

Anders looked at him quizzically. “It was just a nightmare. I’m not even sure how you knew to wake me.” 

Something foreign and dark flashed over Fenris’ expression as he averted his eyes for a moment. Glancing back, he replied, “You were screaming. I thought…” Fenris shook his head as if shoving down the memory while trying to find the words. “You were screaming. I ran.” 

Anders felt something soften between them. He had a vague sense of what he  _ should  _ say--some sarcastic comment about his death being a blessing, or taking the job off of Fenris’ hands--but for the first time since Fenris had come, he didn’t feel it. He wasn’t sure what feeling had replaced it but it felt heavy in his gut. 

Fenris was suddenly very conscious of the distance between himself and the mage, particularly as the feeling of his warm body pressed against his bare chest still lingered on each nerve ending. He flushed, and stood quickly. “Apologies, mage. I will leave you.” Before he could reach the door, however, Anders was calling out to him. 

“Fenris, wait.” 

The elf stiffened, the words echoing with the memory of the last time he was bade to wait, and Justice’s interference.    
“I’m sorry that I sent you away. You...You don’t have to hide from me, and, you know, there’s another room in this place. You don’t have to sleep outside. It rains a lot,” the mage babbled. 

Fenris found himself glad that his face was to the door, as he couldn’t keep back a small smile as Anders’ mouth ran in a distinctly Anders way. “If that is your wish, I will not complain. I must go into town, however. I have work to do.” 

Anders nodded, albeit slightly confused. “O-okay,” he stammered. “Well, see you...I guess.”

“See you, mage.” 

Anders smiled to himself as Fenris left the room, pulling his knees to his chest. He still didn’t understand why Fenris was even there, or why he was asking him to stay, but the one thing he did know, was that he didn’t want the elf to leave. 

While he was taking care of Anders’ cottage, Fenris discovered that the Crown & Lion was a treasure trove of odd jobs. Some people needed deliveries, some needed labor, some needed an intimidating face. Fenris was willing to play almost any role for a sovereign or two. Readjusting to this lifestyle hadn’t been as difficult as he expected. In Hamsal, he had found purpose. Just outside the border of Tevinter and the Free Marches, it had a constant stream of refugees and escaped slaves. Admittedly, he had spent his first year away from Kirkwall preferring to slaughter the slavers rather than assist the slaves, he realized that no matter how many magisters and traders he killed, slavery would persist. He stopped in Hamsal by accident, soothing his frustrated heart with wine when a near skeletal elf burst into the tavern with a small child clinging to her hip.

The innkeeper was telling her apologetically that they just did not have the space to give away rooms for free. Fenris listened to her wail and plead until he couldn’t bear it any longer, and slammed coin on the counter. “I will pay for the room,” he drawled. 

The woman burst into tears and pulled Fenris into a frantic embrace, sobbing thank yous and promises of returned favors. In that moment, he saw how to make a difference, to help other runaways find the life he had lost. He could barely believe it when he decided to leave, and neither could the team he had gathered, but he left the work in their trusted hands and set off towards Amaranthine. 

_ Almost a month ago _ , Fenris mused as he entered the Crown & Lion. 

“Ah, Fenris! Good to see you,” cheered the barkeep as the elf approached. 

“Bowen,” he acknowledged with a nod. “Have anything for me today?”

Bowen sighed thoughtfully. “It’s going to be a rough day for the caravans. Rough, for a while, I wager. They could use some muscle.” 

Fenris took the tankard Bowen passed him habitually. “What’s different about today?” 

“You haven’t heard then?”    
“Heard what? What’s going on?” 

Bowen leaned in and replied in hushed tones. “Some mess up in Orlais pissed off those templars so bad, they’ve left the chantry. They’re on their own now, tearing about Ferelden hunting mages. People are talking about war.” 

Fenris’ stomach lurched. “War...between mages and templars?”

Bowen nodded. “Aye, but I doubt it’ll be their kind in the crossfire.” 

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Get me names of any merchants that might need help on the road, and please…” Fenris hesitated, trying to pinpoint where this sudden fear was coming from. “Let me know if any templars are sighted in the area.” 

Anders had fallen back to sleep with his yet unnamed kitten curled in the crook of his arm, but his rest was quickly interrupted by his front door slamming against the frame. Anders sat up abruptly, and had barely made it to his own door before Fenris was throwing it open. “Fenris? What--” 

“The templars have left the chantry,” he panted. 

Anders’ jaw dropped, suddenly feeling as though the air had been knocked from his lungs. “What do you mean they  _ left _ ?” 

“I was in town, and Bowen said the templars had broken their accord and were heading off to fight, to…” Fenris shook his head. “Do you have any idea what has been going on? The Circle has collapsed, the Divine almost assassinated, and now…” 

Anders backed away. “That’s why you came.”    
“What?”    
“That’s why you came looking for me, for Justice, isn’t it? Mages are actually rebelling and you wanted to put down the one who started it.” 

Fenris met Anders’ eyes, but was silent. 

“I’m right aren’t I? Is that why you haven’t left? You realized I wasn’t a threat but you’re keeping an eye on me like some caged beast?” 

Fenris glared back at the mage, but still said nothing. 

“Nothing to say for yourself?”    
“Why I came does not matter,” he finally replied through gritted teeth. “Bowen thinks Ferelden will soon be overrun with templars and mages. He says there will be war.”    
A hot mix of guilt and rage was filling Anders from top to bottom. “I suppose you will be leaving to fight beside the templars then? Or are you holding me for them as a gift?” 

Fenris threw his hands in the air. “You are an insufferable fool,” he yelled. 

“Then leave!” 

“NO!” Fenris’ shout echoed through the small room and was met with a staggering silence. The elf was clenching his fists so tightly that his nails nearly pierced the skin of his palm. “I cannot leave you in this condition,” he stated, voice low. The memory of blinding blue light and a twisted grin across Anders’ face made Fenris shudder. 

Anders scoffed. “I do not understand why you  _ care _ all of the sudden.” 

“Because I should have cared before,” Fenris replied, so quietly Anders almost didn’t hear him. “I knew what your demon was capable of. I should have stopped him.” 

“You mean, you should have killed me sooner.” Anders crossed his arms. 

Fenris exhaled angrily. “Why do you  _ insist _ on hearing the worst in what I say?”    
“Ex _ cuse _ me, but your track record when it comes to me doesn’t give me much else to work with.”

“I was wrong, alright? I...apologize.” Fenris surprised himself, the words tumbling out of his mouth faster than he could think them. No matter how surprised and confused the mage looked, Fenris was certain he was the more shocked by what he said. “You’ve never been a monster. You could never be a magister. I even told Hawke as much, once. I was too proud to admit my mistake, that my judgement had been wrong….and, I was angry. I killed Hadriana, I killed Danarius, but it wasn’t enough. They put this hatred in me and it burned, and burned, until I could feel nothing but ash. So, I made you into the monster of that hatred so it could swallow something other than myself. The more I realized you weren’t what I imagined you to be, the angrier I became. I felt like a fool, as though hating mages was a war and I had lost the first battle because I---” Fenris’ breath hitched.  _ What am I even trying to say?  _ He felt like he was going to be sick, like he was going to burst from the inside. He felt the same nagging tug that he felt as he had held the mage while he sobbed, when he swore he would banish Justice, when he promised to find Anders’ will to live. He felt the tug, pulling him towards something, but he refused to follow. Instead, he shook his head and released the breath he realized he was holding. “I cannot rewrite the past, but I can choose the right thing now.” 

They stood in a heavy silence for some time. It was Anders who broke it. He wanted to be angry to resent Fenris for making him believe he was hated for all those years, for yearning for the elf’s approval and resenting that he could never earn it. He wanted to laugh at all the arguments, the wasted energy. Instead, he whispered: “I believe you.” 

Fenris smiled a tired smile. “That’s a start.” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for the delay ya'll. For some reason, I had the hardest time getting through this chapter. And then life happened. But hopefully, with NaNoWriMo going on, I will be able to start updating regularly again!

Fenris would have been content to keep sleeping outside. It reminded him of travelling with Hawke, and therefore, of better days. However, he was not complaining about moving inside. A bed roll is a bed roll, but a flat floor is a step above rocky earth. He rose lazily, the oversized tunic he wore to bed grazing the back of his thighs. _What am I wearing?_ Exhausted, he had grabbed the first thing he saw on the floor which was apparently not his. He rubbed his face in the soft sleeves and smiled. It was just comfortable. He was absolutely _not_ enjoying the lingering smell of mage nor imagining how much warmer it would feel wrapped around him if there was another body filling it out. A slight blush bloomed at the tips of his ears, but he shook it away and walked out into the cottage. They had reached a comfortable rhythm in the cottage. Fenris left most days to work in town, but not without first making Anders promise he would do _something_ . Some days it was as little as washing a dish and other days he managed to take a walk down the road. He still had bad days where he couldn’t bear to leave his room, but as long as the better days won in number, Fenris was content with his progress.   
  
Fenris found Anders sitting on the floor in what had become their kitchen area, legs crossed, with the kitten in his lap. He stalled his approach, taking a moment to watch the mage in a private moment of calm. His hair hung loose around his face to just past his shoulders. It was much longer than it was in Kirkwall, but despite the lapsed care it still shone like woven threads of copper and gold. Anders was watching the kitten bat at his fingers with such warmth, a tired elf could almost forget the turmoil he knew to be behind those amber eyes. He watched greedily for a few moments, before clearing his throat to announce his presence. 

Anders blinked up at him and grinned. “Good morning. I named the cat.” 

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Oh? After three weeks of ‘Cat’ I was sure it was going to stick.” 

The mage rolled his eyes. “Despite appearances, I have more class than that. No, I’ve decided to name her Frieden.” 

“That’s...surprisingly normal. Where did that come from?”   
“It’s one of the few words I know in Anderfel.”

Fenris crouched down, extending his hand towards the kitten who happily leapt off Anders lap to nuzzle his palm. “What does it mean?”   
Anders hesitated, but responded in a soft voice. “It means peace.” 

“That’s...that’s perfect,” Fenris stammered. It soothed him to know that even if Anders didn’t fully know what Justice was doing to him, that he was still pushing back just that little bit. “Hello Frieden,” Fenris cooed, petting the kitten one more time before passing her back to Anders. 

Fenris felt Anders eyes on him, and looked up to find something inexplicably warm in his expression. He wasn’t sure why, but he smiled back. For the second time, Fenris felt something shift between them. 

Anders cleared his throat, and looked away, standing suddenly. “Look at me, sitting on the floor like a child,” he chuckled nervously. Fenris’ eyes followed him to the corner of the small room, watching as he wrung his hands together. 

“I had an idea,” Fenris began carefully. He was sure Anders _could_ be ready for this, but was cognisant of the risk his asking posed. “I thought you might want to come with me into the city today.” 

“And here I thought you left every day to get away from me,” Anders joked. 

Fenris was quiet, then responded quietly. “If money were no object, I wouldn’t leave.” Startled by his own admission, he quickly sputtered, “besides, people in Amaranthine don’t _talk_ , and I can think of none better at filling silence than you, mage.” 

If Anders had been facing the elf, he’d have seen a blush fill his cheeks. Alas, watched the wall as he considered. He had barely left the cottage in two years, venturing out only to buy supplies from the outer farms in the opposite direction. Yet, it had been almost a month since he’d last tried to die, and he found himself invigorated by Fenris’ faith in him. It had taken a few tries, but he was starting to believe that maybe the elf didn’t hate him, and if he of all people could stand to be around him, then maybe he could give himself a second chance. “Okay.” 

Fenris’ ears perked up. “Really?” He tried not to sound too excited. 

Only then did Anders turn to face him nodding with a wide smile. “Yeah. I’ll go.” 

***

“Wait!” Anders called gleefully as they were about to walk through the door. The sheer joy in his voice caught Fenris off guard; so much so that he almost missed what Anders ran back for. 

“What are you doing to Frieden now?”  
Anders grinned, as he twisted himself around to plop the kitten in the hood of his cloak. “I used to carry around Pounce like this. He loved it.” 

Fenris opened his mouth to tease the mage, but he pulled back as he fully absorbed the scene before him. For the first time since Fenris had arrived, Anders looked happy. He was intent and focused on adjusting his now kitten filled hood, giggling to himself as Frieden responded with quiet mews. Fenris couldn’t help but smile. Anders looked up expectantly, as if to signal his readiness to leave, and their eyes met. A warmth passed between them, a fullness of spirit. It pulled at the elf’s heart. Fenris turned abruptly, wiping away the heavy burn that had collected in the corners of his eyes. Part of him hadn’t believed he would ever see the mage like this again, his eyes bright and framed by a slight crinkle. For a moment, there was no shadow behind them making you question whether the laughter covered something else. For that moment, Fenris wanted to turn back and grab the mage’s face, as if he could hold that expression in place. He wanted to shake him and make sure he never forgot that he still had joy to feel. But Fenris wasn’t a fool. He had carried that shadow too, and another part of him was afraid that if he looked now, Anders would have remembered his sorrow, and the light would be gone again, and Fenris couldn’t bear it. “Let’s go,” he said tightly.

Anders grabbed his staff and, still smiling, followed Fenris out the door. Comforted by the weight of a kitten hanging against his shoulders, there was even the slightest bounce to his step. 

It was exhilarating to watch the mage leave the cottage with a bounce in his step, but equally draining to watch as the jubilant energy seeped from him as they spent more time outside. The isolation Anders had grown accustomed to over these past years had clearly weighed on him. Fenris remembered him as outgoing, almost to a fault, but what he saw that day was anxious introversion. It was subtle to a stranger, but Fenris knew better. As they made their way down the path, Anders frequently reached back to stroke the kitten, taking comfort in her soft fur. The elf’s new urge to comfort the mage tugged at him again, and he made gentle touches, palm to shoulder, as they walked. Fenris drew a small measure of reassurance from the way Anders looked curiously at the approaching city gate. 

Amaranthine was so much like what Anders remembered, that one might forget that it had been almost entirely destroyed a decade ago. The faint smell of cow manure and firewood was the same, and the towering arch of red brick still welcomed them in. There were more guards than he remembered, likely because of the impending chaos Fenris had been warned of. _Maybe the wrong time to start taking adventures, Anders_. 

Fenris noticed his nervous glances between suits of armor, and gave his hand a light squeeze. “I’ll be checking in with Bowen at the Crown and the Lion. He usually has something for me to do.” 

Anders nodded. “I remember that place. Everyone liked it, but I thought it smelled.” 

“Mage, you lived in the _sewers_.” 

Anders smirked. “Before Justice, my standards were much higher. You should have seen the clothes I wore.” 

“Maybe I should. I would have liked to know you...before.” 

Anders shook his head. “I’m afraid you still would have ha--disliked me, just for different reasons. I probably would have hit on you within five minutes, and you would have run away disgusted.” 

Fenris raised an eyebrow, but before he could question it, they were walking through the door of the tavern, and Bowen was calling Fenris’ name from the bar. 

“Fenris! Just the man I wanted to see,” he bellowed. “Old Albert down the road needs some help setting up his new stock. Trouble with his back, you see, and ill timed. I’ve been told his wife has a mean stew waiting for whoever takes up the task.”   
To Anders shock, and awe, Fenris responded with a wide, open grin. “If she’s as good a cook as I’ve heard, that'll pay enough!” 

Anders gaped. Fenris was _chuckling_ and being all-together charming. 

“I have a tag along today, Bowen, I hope Albert wont mind?” 

Bowen shrugged. “Can’t see why not!” 

Fenris clapped a hand on the innkeeper’s shoulder. “Thanks Bowen. Any letters today?”   
The bearded man shook his head. “Not a one. I’ll let you know if any come!”   
“Who are you expecting letters from?” Anders asked carefully as they made their way out of the tavern. 

“I left work behind when I came here. I may be needed,” Fenris replied, returning to his usual low, even tone. 

“Something with Hawke?” Answered blurted out without thinking. He didn’t want to talk about Hawke, he certainly didn’t want to think about things moving forward as usual with the group, without him. To his relief, Fenris shook his head. “No. I haven’t seen Hawke since...well, I haven’t seen her.” 

Anders hesitated, genuinely unsure if he wanted this conversation to continue. Seemingly sensing his reticence, Fenris swiftly changed the subject. “Have you spent much time in the city?” 

Anders shook his head. “Not at all. In fact, I’ve been avoiding it at all costs.”

“Didn’t you have friends here?”

The mage shrugged. “I knew some faces when I was with the Wardens. I doubt anyone would remember me. Except...well, I don’t know.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?” 

Anders rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers absentmindedly drifting to stroke Frieden’s ear. “I left my cat here...with a friend, or at least a friend’s sister.” 

“What’s her name? Is she still here? Maybe we could look in on them.” 

Anders simply shook his head and kept following Fenris forward. 

When they reached Albert’s shop, Fenris knocked on the door frame and announced himself by calling Albert’s name. “Bowen sent me to help with the stock.”   
A portly red haired man stepped into the main room. “Fenris! Good to see you.”

“Hello Albert. A friend of mine is here with me, I hope that is alright.” At that, Anders awkwardly stepped forward, preparing to wave before his jaw dropped and his eyes widened.  
“Well, I’ll be,” Albert chortled.   
Fenris looked between the two men, confused. “Do you know each other?”   
Before the mage could answer, a small woman stepped out in front of him. “Andraste’s pink cheeks, Anders?!” 

“Hello Delilah,” Anders mumbled. 

For a beat, nobody spoke, all unsure what feelings to express, or which words to use. It was Delilah Howe who broke the spell, marching up to them and swatting Anders on the back of the head like a disobedient child. “You blighted idiotic nug humping genlock’s ass! Where have you been? Nathaniel told us you were dead, and then I hear you’re blowing up chantries in the Free Marches! What’s wrong with you?”

Fenris choked on his laughter, eyes widening in glee. Anders glared at him, and then looked defferentially back at Delilah. “I’m sorry...I--” 

“You what? Forgot to let your friends know you weren’t dead? Or forgot that you left your damned cat here? Or forgot that you were kind enough to leave us a corpse in your armor for us to bury before showing up back here with your tail between your legs?” 

Fenris’ jaw dropped. “You left…a body?”   
“Shush you,” Anders snapped at the elf. “Listen, I’m sorry. I really am. I thought they would come for me, and then...I don’t know, things happened.”   
Delilah crossed her arms. “Things? What kind of things? And how do these _things_ explain why you’ve only deigned to bestow this revelation upon us by accidentally following an elf through our door?”

“You don’t understand...I didn’t--I couldn’t…” 

She sighed. “At least let me write to Nathaniel. Or...Maker, does Mariah know?”   
Fenris raised an eyebrow. Who was Mariah? Inexplicably, his stomach dropped and tightened in a way he did not recognize, and unbidden, the question of whether this “Mariah” was an old lover crossed his mind. 

Anders shook his head vigorously. “Please. She’ll...I don’t want to see her.”   
Delilah snorted. “Well lucky for you, no one has seen her since your supposed funeral.”

“What do you mean?” 

“She took off. I know she spent some time in Denerim with the King, but then she vanished. Nathaniel said she was going on about some cure, who knows. Warden business.”   
“I’m sorry, but who do you know that spends time with the King of Ferelden?” Fenris blurted out, incredulously. 

Anders wrung his hands nervously. “Well, his… I don’t know, ex-maybe-not-ex-lover. You know, the Warden-Commander, Hero of Ferelden, Hawke’s cousin, Mariah Amell?”

“How was I not aware that you know the Hero of Ferelden?” 

Anders shrugged. “I’d be surprised if you knew anything about me, considering how little you listened to me.” It was meant as a joke, but it came out sounding bitter, which took Fenris aback. The elf lowered his eyes and looked away, unable to find a retort.

Delilah’s admonishing expression softened as she watched Anders, who was hunched over as if trying to shrink into himself, who refused to meet her eyes, whose voice was layered with pain and exhaustion. “Listen, why doesn’t your friend help Albert with the stock like he meant to, and we go catch up? I think there’s someone else who wants to see you, anyway.”   
Anders’ expression brightened slightly. “Really?” he said softly, almost reverently.   
Delilah nodded, and smiled warmly. “Come on,” she invited, extending her hand. Anders looked back to Fenris, and finding no objection, he took the woman’s hand and followed her out through the back of the shop to their adjoining home. 

With Fenris’ help, the stock didn’t take long to do, and the old friends had to be called back. When Anders returned, he and Delilah were smiling. Anders was even laughing. Frieden was no longer in his hood, but was trotting along next to his feet. Fenris was mesmerized. Not in pieces, not in flashes, but wholly before him he saw the old Anders, and he was struck by a hammer of regret. How was it that now, he relished the sight of a man he thought he hated with his entire being just a few years ago? True, he had started to accept that he had been wrong about the mage before the chantry was destroyed, but he had denied it until the end, convinced that his feelings towards the man were irrelevant as only the demon remained. It had always been more complicated, he realized, but his own demons kept him on constant guard. He saw everything as a threat, in a way that he was just too tired to now. He watched Anders sorrowfully, now, wondering if it would be any different if he had been able to care for the mage in Kirkwall. _He had Hawke,_ Fenris reminded himself. His own memory of Anders answered back: “ _She loved who she thought I was, selfless and self-sacrificing. She didn’t love me.”_

“Is there something on my face?” Anders chuckled. 

Fenris snapped out of his thoughts, realizing he had been staring. He cleared his throat, and grumbled, “yes. I mean, no. I’m ready to leave,” he huffed. 

Delilah embraced Anders one last time. “Please don’t be a stranger. Pounce will miss you too much now that you’ve returned.” 

Anders smiled gently. “I will. I promise.” 

Albert clapped Fenris on the back. “Thanks for your help. You boys are welcome here any time.” He slid a pouch of coin into Fenris’ hand and shook it. “You take care of him,” he said quietly. Fenris stole another glance at Anders then looked back at Albert. “I plan to.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi hi. This is a relatively short chapter, but I wanted to get something up. I'm sorry for the delays! I am not abandoning this fic, I have a lot planned, life and things just gets in the way. Thank you all for all your kudos and comments, they make everything better <33

9:40 Dragon, Haring

Fenris wrung the letter between his hands, standing silently in the doorway watching Anders flit back and forth, mumbling under his breath to their cat. Nearly two months he’d been here, and already it felt like a lifetime. They had nearly stopped arguing about mages and templars, Justice rarely made appearances, and Anders seemed almost happy. Fenris knew the letter in his hand would change all of that. The conflict between mages and templars, now unfettered by the chantry, was growing in scope and violence. He feared what Anders--what the demon--would do once they knew. Yet, he couldn’t lie. “Mage,” Fenris spoke what had lately become more of an endearment than an insult. “I have news.” 

“Hmm?” Anders looked over his shoulder with a smile, his expression falling slightly as Fenris’ announcement sunk in. “What is it?” 

“Another circle has been annulled,” the elf said somberly. “Dairsmuid.” His own sadness surprised him, but in his time since Kirkwall, reflecting on what had happened there, even Fenris had to admit that some of the southern templars’ methods were drastic and unnecessary. Surely, the crimes of the few didn’t justify murdering an entire circle? Even children? He wished he had understood that when Hawke had asked him to stay and fight, when Anders had revealed his fears about Meredith. 

Anders hands fell heavily to his sides, the carefree smile he had held disappearing with no trace. His knees started to give way, and Fenris was at his side in an instant, supporting his weight as he sunk to his knees. “Maker...All those people, and I’m--” 

“Don’t,” Fenris growled. “It’s not your fault.”

“How? It was my foolishness that started this rebellion, and now what do I do while my brethren are murdered in their beds en mass? It’s pathetic.” 

Fenris’ heart ached in a way that was foreign to him. Part of him wanted to admonish the mage, tell him he was right, that his actions in Kirkwall were foolish, and he should have thought of these consequences before blowing their lives to pieces. Yet, his retorts were drowned out by the heaviness he felt at Anders’ pain, as if it was his own. Before he realized what he was doing, Fenris was moving to wrap his arms around the other man’s shoulders, urging him closer to him, as if he could absorb his pain if they just got close enough, but Anders recoiled and stood up abruptly. “Don’t comfort me! I don’t want your pity, I can’t stand it. Why won’t you just hate me?”

The answer Fenris wasn’t ready to give turned to ash on his tongue, and he just stared like a bewildered halla. 

Anders huffed and left the elf crouched on the floor, alone. 

9:41 Dragon, Bloomingtide

After six months in Amaranthine, Fenris felt that he and Anders had fallen into something you could call routine. Fenris kept up his habit of performing odd jobs for coin in town, the mage often following to visit Delilah and Ser Pounce-A-Lot. They still argued, but their disagreements had begun to feel lighter, underwritten by the trust that they’d both still be there at the end of them. Yet, as much as they both tried to ignore it, there was a heaviness building in the air. It seemed as though daily reports of escalating hostility between rebel mages and templars passed through town, and even more concerning rumors were filtering in from Fenris’ old contacts in Hamsal about Tevinter. Whispers of mad magisters, forbidden magic, and even more secrets than usual burned on the lips of the refugees his associates helped. His connections meant that Fenris was usually in the unpleasant position of delivering bad news to Anders, and the elf could see the guilt piling up behind his eyes and weighing down his shoulders. It had been weeks since Anders had attempted to take his own life, or even spoken of it, but Fenris knew that that type of pain lingered. And still, everyday, Fenris renewed his oath made to no one in particular on the Amaranthine beaches to keep that man alive. Somewhere along the road, he had started believing the mantras he’d repeated over and over to sooth the mage: the conflict was inevitable, Kirkwall was not the beginning, this isn’t your fault. By no conscious choice of his own, Fenris had forgiven him, and something he dared not name had replaced the resentment he’d grown so comfortable with. 

The conflict between mages and templars had been progressively worse over the past months, while Fenris felt a war of his own brewing inside. On one hand, he yearned for Anders to feel something other than guilt. He almost missed his righteous anger over mage freedom-- _almost_ \--the hitch being that on the other hand, Fenris couldn’t help but fear what would happen if, and when, the mage did start to care again. The Anders he remembered, the one he was theoretically trying to bring back, wouldn’t sit idly in a cottage with a broody elf and a kitten while the fate of mages in southern Thedas was being decided. Even more terrifying was that the more Anders became re-invested in the plight of mages, the more power Justice regained. Every time Fenris re-read his latest piece of news, he shuddered and saw honey-golden eyes deaden under a crimson glow once more. Somewhere, gnawing at his mind, was the solemn knowledge that if Anders left Amaranthine now, he’d see the light leave those eyes for good.

“What is that?” Anders voice pierced through Fenris’ darkening thoughts the one day he didn’t listen carefully enough, didn’t hide the letter fast enough. Fenris, back to the doorway, clutched the paper to his chest and closed his eyes, exhaling for what felt like an eternity. He couldn’t lie. Not about this. Wordlessly, he reached backwards to hand the letter off. Anders quietly, almost silently, read the page. Fenris curled in on himself, weighed down by words unspoken. He was reliving the dread he felt as Hawke declared her support for the mages. Then, he had known he couldn’t fight by her side, and broke his own heart walking away from his first true friend. Now he feared the depths staring up at him from beneath the precipice upon which he now stood. 

“How long have you had this?” Anders finally spoke, barely above a whisper. 

“Since Wintermarch,” he muttered. 

“Five months? Five months you’ve known that the Divine was brokering peace between the templars and mages and you didn’t think I should know?” 

“No, that’s not--” 

“I don’t understand why you’d keep this from me, unless you truly are here just to watch me suffer, or maybe to gloat over my guilt? Why else?” 

“Mage…” 

“You know I have to go. Justice has to go. We have to put this right. I have to help! I need--” 

“Anders!” Fenris realized too late he had slammed his fist on the floor halfway through standing up, and was now crouched on his hands and knees, breathing heavily. The elf looked up at Anders through untied hair. “Anders…” he repeated, softly now. “I know. I will not stop you.” 

The mage stared back, mouth agape. “You—If I say I mean to leave for Haven and attend this conclave, you won’t stand in my way?”

“After all this time, do you really still believe I am here as your jailer?”

Anders rubbed the back of his neck nervously, clearly anticipating a fight and unsure of the softness he found instead. “I...I guess not. I still don’t quite understand why you _are_ here but know it’s not that.”

Fenris finally found his footing, but averted his gaze. “I would...that is if you wished...ah, _kaffas_. I will not stay in Amaranthine if you leave.” 

Anders watched him quizzically, as if he was translating through five languages to reach understanding. “Are you—Fenris, are you trying to say you want to _come with me_? To the Divine’s conclave? Where I will be defending permanently disbanding the circles?” 

Fenris stepped forward and took Anders hands, lightly pressing his thumb between the man’s knuckles. “I know I cannot stop you, but I have not spent all these months protecting you from yourself to let you walk into the lion’s den alone.” Their eyes met, the elf’s red and watery and the mage’s wide and shocked. “They will try to kill you. I will not let them succeed.”

Whether it was the look in Fenris’ eyes or the sincerity of his words Anders could not say, but this time he did not question the warrior’s desire to keep him alive. 

Anders pulled his hand back quickly as he suddenly felt Justice seething inside, the first clear thoughts from the spirit in weeks. 

**_THE ELF WILL DIVERT US FROM OUR PURPOSE. HIS HATRED WILL DESTROY US BOTH._ **

_He doesn’t hate us. Well, he doesn’t hate me. He...I don’t know, but this isn’t hate. It can’t be. Not anymore._

**_HE LIES. HE WAITS._ **

_No...No no no no no…_

Without realizing it, Anders had started backing away, holding his head in his hands. Fenris followed, worry mingling with anger on his face. “Mage? Anders? What is it?” 

Anders shook his head. “I don’t—I don’t” he stammered, raising his eyes back meeting the elf’s gaze with wild eyes. 

**_WE HAVE NEARLY REDISCOVERED OUR PATH. WE MUST NOT HAVE DISTRACTIONS._ **

_Yes...You’re right...I should focus...I should…_

Fenris watched the mage’s shoulders sag under the weight of what Fenris assumed was some protest by Justice to Maker knows what. Panic threw his hands forward, grabbing Anders’ face between them. 

Anders' train of thought skidded to an abrupt halt as warm hands gripped his face. Justice hummed and faded into the soft pulse of lyrium, and his host instinctively sighed into Fenris’ touch, letting his eyes flutter closed. 

Fenris listened as Anders’ breath evened out, taking back his hands only when he saw the strain lift from Anders’ brow and eyes. 

Feeling the warmth leave his cheeks, Anders’ eyes opened once more and, somewhat dazed, he murmured: “Thank you.” 

“What happened?” 

“Justice doesn’t want you to come,” Anders replied, a little too quickly. Justice bristled under his skin. 

Fenris’ eyes narrowed. “Then my mind is made up. I will follow you.” 

Anders chuckled. “So that’s how I get you to do something? Just say Justice doesn’t like it? I should have figured that out years ago.” 

The elf smiled weakly. He watched Anders try and joke, but he heard the exhaustion and weakness in his voice. A pang of guilt tightened Fenris’ stomach, and regret washed over him, wondering not for the last time if he should have never told the mage about the conclave.


	11. Chapter 11

Between the two of them, they had embarrassingly little to pack. Fenris had spent half of the next week convincing Anders they couldn’t bring the cat, and finally the mage begrudgingly dropped yet another feline into Delilah’s hands. She accepted Frieden with a somber smile. Fenris had taken her hand and assured her they would return. “That’s what he said the last time,” she replied quietly. 

The pair decided to stop first in Denerim for supplies and to pick up the Imperial Highway. They had argued about a more inconspicuous route, but ultimately the speed and ease won out. Fenris assured Anders that they would stick out whether on the road traipsing through villages, so they might as well try to blend in plain sight. 

“I lived in Denerim for a time, you know,” Anders had said as they waited for sleep in the Gnawed Noble Inn on the third night of their journey. 

Fenris grunted in acknowledgement. “Yes, I seem to remember you and Isabella...reminiscing.” 

Anders chuckled. “Isabella likes to exaggerate. It was usually more fun to encourage her version of things than discuss the truth of it.” He paused, and for a moment Fenris thought the conversation was over, but then he went on. “Isabella tells it like I swept in, showed off my tricks, and left, but I lived there. I... _ worked _ there, at the Pearl. I never told Hawke that. I didn’t want her to think less of me.” 

Fenris felt an odd twinge at Hawke’s name, but chose to ignore it. “You’re not worried I’ll think less of you?” 

“Didn’t you have to do anything to survive that you weren’t proud of? On the run, I mean.” 

Fenris thought of the Fog Warriors, and for a moment, nearly started telling the tale. Instead, he mumbled a curt “yes” and shut his eyes. When sleep eluded him some time later, he spoke back to the silence, somehow knowing Anders was still awake. “Do you miss her?” he asked. 

Anders hummed. “I miss how things were, but I don’t think I want them back now.”   
Fenris sat up on his elbows, surprised. “Why not?” 

“I clung to Hawke because she saw me as human, and I was lonely and afraid, and wanted to pretend I was someone I wasn’t. The man that could have, should have, truly loved her, died a long time ago. I don’t know if I even remember how to love anymore.” 

“What does it feel like?” 

“What does what feel like?” 

“Being in love. How do you know it wasn’t real?” 

Anders didn’t reply for some time, both caught off guard by the question, and lost in his search for an answer. Finally, he said softly: “It can feel like someone gave you ground to stand on after treading water your whole life. It can also feel like drowning, like your lungs are filling with water, only when you’re with them, they share the volume, so nobody drowns, but if they’re not open to you, if they don’t love you back, you can drown in it. Sometimes it feels like none of that at all, save the knowledge that you’d, say, escape a Circle risking another year in solitary because you heard they were in trouble.” 

“Isn’t it terrifying letting another person have that much power over you?” 

“A little.” Hesitating slightly, Anders continued: “In the Circle, love was a game. It gave the templars too much power to know there was something you couldn’t stand to lose. It was safer to play the game, but with Karl...It felt worth the risk. I chose him, despite the templars, despite the risk. In the end, the templars still took him away from me, but they couldn’t take away that love. That is mine. It reminded me I was a person while I was in solitary.” 

Fenris drifted off to sleep, thinking on the warmth that had bloomed in his chest.  _ That’s mine.  _

***

From Denerim, they followed the Imperial Highway past the Pilgrim’s Path and South Reach staying at inns in villages when they were close enough and otherwise camping off the side of the road. In the days after they left Denerim, the air grew tense between them. Fenris was growing short tempered and cold, and Anders was not handling it well, oscillating between anger and resignation. Anders had gotten used to their new relationship, deciding he had grown tired of questioning it. For whatever reason, Fenris had decided to stop hating him, and for an even more mysterious reason, had developed an interest in Anders’ wellbeing.  _ Whatever it is, I don’t want to lose it _ . He thought to himself, and then immediately:  _ selfish _ . Justice was unhappy. He had never liked Fenris, but now Anders felt as though the spirit had become hostile towards the elf. No matter how many times he explained that Fenris was trying to help, and wasn’t going to betray them once they reached the conclave, Justice was adamant that they should leave him behind, or worse. Anders did his best to ignore the spirit. The relief he felt when Fenris declared his intent to follow Anders to Haven had surprised the mage, but he accepted it. Whatever affection he was beginning to feel, he was happy to have whatever it was that Fenris was offering. So when he suddenly reverted to his former broody ways, Anders lashed out in kind, resentful that he’d ever been made to enjoy the elf’s presence. 

“We’re lost. I should never have let you give directions.” 

Anders scoffed. “How could we be lost? We’re following  _ one road _ .” 

“We should be further along. We’ve gone too slow. 

Anders rolled his eyes. “You know, you’re the one who wanted to come. I thought--Whatever. If you want to be done please just go so I don’t have to hear you complain anymore.” 

Fenris stopped walking, clenching his fists and glaring everywhere but Anders. 

Anders swallowed.  _ He’s thinking about it. He’s actually thinking about it _ . 

**_GOOD. LET US BE RID OF HIM. HE MUST NOT STAND IN OUR WAY._ **

_ But I…  _ The words left him, and he huffed and started walking, not daring to check if Fenris was following. 

Fenris wondered if he should turn back. It would be easier that way. Let the mage get himself killed. Let Justice take him. When panic crept in, Fenris was angry again, angry at the lump growing in his stomach he could no longer ignore.  _ Foolish stubborn irritating abomination. Even stupider elf.  _ As Anders took more steps away from him, he felt like a hook was tugging painfully at his skin. Against his better judgement, he followed. 

***

They had been on the road for almost two weeks when they reached Lothering. “That’s where Hawke is from,” Anders murmured, almost reverently. “I wonder what would have happened to us if they had taken another road. You know, not gone to Kirkwall.” 

“I’d probably be dead,” said Fenris before he even realized he’d had the thought. 

Anders turned on his heels and raised an eyebrow. 

Fenris shrugged. “Either I would have died in that trap Hawke fell in for me, or trying to fight Hadriana on my own. Or when Danarius came for me. Besides, I doubt I could have gotten very far without my healer.” Realizing what he’d said and shaking a light blush away, he corrected: “Err, Hawke’s healer. That is to say, I’m not foolish enough not to realize how many times you’ve saved all our lives.”

Anders feigned a bashful smile. “And here I thought I needed your protection.” 

“What about you?” Fenris asked, steering the conversation away from himself. 

Anders’ smile fell and his expression darkened. “I suppose I’d be tranquil. I would still have tried to save Karl, and the templars would have captured me without Hawke’s help. 

Fenris tried to ignore the new image of Anders’ eyes, empty and dull under a sunburst brand. “Would Justice allow that?” 

“He wouldn’t have a choice. He’d be blissed out on lyrium and silenced before he had a chance to react.” 

An odd silence lingered between them. Fenris was unsure what to say, unwilling to express the dread he felt at the idea of Anders’ becoming tranquil; the pain that pierced his chest at the notion they could have never met, that he’d never have known the tenderness he’d begun to feel towards the mage, and the presence of those thoughts made him more afraid than anything. “I’ve always feared being made tranquil. Now...more than ever,” said Anders, so quietly that Fenris almost didn’t hear him. His voice was thick with unspoken words and unspent tears. 

“Some things are worse than death,” Fenris murmured in response, reciting a memory. 

***

“Absolutely not.”   
“Fenris, come on. Loosen up. It’s fun, and I’ve never been able to do this without panicking over the templars showing up any minute. Please?” 

Fenris crossed his arms and glared. He tried to keep his resolve, but the mage was  _ pouting _ , making his honey brown eyes even wider than usual. He protested a little while longer to at least keep up appearances, but he had agreed internally the moment Anders brought up stopping for a swim in Lake Calenhad. 

“Fine. But I am not getting in.” 

Anders smirked back at him. “Whatever you say.” 

They had stopped for the night near a small village in Redcliffe Arling called Robert’s Bay, setting them up to make it to the city by the following afternoon.  _ Could have been there today, but some fool mage needed to swim _ , Fenris grumbled to himself. Fenris sat a comfortable distance from the shore while Anders ran towards the lakefront. 

“You’re missing out!” Anders called back, and Fenris turned at just the right moment to see the mage throwing off his clothes. 

_ Look away, look away, look away... _ the elf chanted to himself, but his eyes stayed fixed. His mouth went dry as his eyes trailed along the lines of his profile. Fenris had to admit the man was beautiful. Shades of red and gold ran through his hair and skin. Under the setting sun, he looked like an open flame, and from Fenris’ own rising temperature, he could almost swear he had caught fire. He watched Anders wade into the water, dragging his hands along the surface. His eyes closed and he turned his face up like a flower trying to soak up sunlight. Fenris wondered if he had ever seen the mage look so at peace. 

But then he blinked, and Anders disappeared from view. “Mage?” Fenris yelled, and received no response. He was at his feet in another instant, and running towards the shore. “Anders? Anders!” He grew more frantic, as he started running into the water. He reached down where he saw bubbles rising from the deep, and pulled him up with great force. 

“Ouch!” Anders yelped. “What was that for?”   
Fenris stared, dumb and wide eyed. “I--I thought--” he stammered. He shook his head. “I apologize,” he said, flat toned, and turned away. 

Before he could gain much distance, Anders was reaching for him. “Hey, wait! What was that?” 

Fenris shrugged away the mage’s hand and kept walking. “When you’re done here I’ll be at the inn,” he said with a huff, and stormed off. 

Nearly two hours passed with Fenris pacing back and forth in the small room they had rented at the inn.  _ I should never have left. What if he drowned? He didn’t drown, he swam that entire lake once. What if bandits found him? Or templars?  _ The elf sat on the edge of his bed catching his face in his hands. Groaning, he thought  _ You are being a fool. Why are you so afraid? Maybe because the mage has a death wish. So, why did you run when he  _ wasn’t _ dead? _ Fenris’ mind was running a mile a minute spinning words he didn’t understand. Why did he run? His own fear had frightened him. As much as he had told himself in the beginning that he was staying because it was what Hawke would do, he could feel his motivations becoming more selfish. He felt like he was drowning, and he wished a certain mage would pull him out from the deep and breathe air into his lungs.  _ How is this possible? Am I really so lonely that I think I’m...feeling things...for someone I wanted to kill six months ago? Only, it was Justice I thought I was hunting, wasn’t it? _ Fenris’ stomach lurched, remembering suddenly the threat that remained between them. Even if he thought Anders might feel the same, which he didn’t, the elf knew how the demon felt about him. Would he hurt Anders to keep Fenris away? A guttural yell escaped Fenris’ lips as he slammed his fist against the wall. “Venedhis!” he swore, cradling his now throbbing and bleeding hand. 

“Still angry then, I see,” Anders muttered, appearing in the doorway.

Fenris flushed. Turning his body but averting his eyes. “I’m not--That is, I wasn’t.  _ Kaffas _ ,” he sighed. “Healing would be welcome…” 

Anders rolled his eyes, and a warm glow surrounded the elf’s hand and dissipated, taking the pain with it. “Care to tell me what in the void has been going on with you?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Andraste’s ass, you don’t. Back in Kirkwall, I accepted that you hated me. I got used to it. Then you show up years later, insisting that you don’t, and I learned to accept this...new you, or whatever. But ever since we left Amaranthine it’s like I get a different Fenris every five minutes. At least, if I’m pissing you off again, just tell me so I can adjust my expectations.” 

Fenris stared at his hands, unable to speak. Anders was right, he had been acting unfairly, but he couldn’t explain without admitting things he had barely acknowledged himself, that would surely ruin whatever accord they had built over the past months. “I apologize,” he said finally. 

“That’s it? You ‘apologize’?” 

“I don’t know what else you want from me.” 

“I want a Maker damned explanation, Fenris! I can’t bear having to walk on eggshells around you again! Not when I--when I got used to having you around.”

“I can’t explain any further. Please don’t ask me to.” 

“Maferath’s balls, Fenris, please don’t shut down on me now.” 

“Anders--” 

“No! You have to pick one. Old Fenris or new Fenris, and if we’re going with old Fenris, I don’t want to hear my name from you.”

“Anders, please relax. We can keep things the way things are, I just can’t tell you what you want to hear.” 

“Why not?” Anders snapped. Only then, did Fenris notice the faint lines of blue growing from the corners of his eyes, the slight glow in his irises. 

“Anders, please. The demon--” 

“Spirit!” The double resonance of Justice’s voice layered under the mage’s. 

“Anders, you deserve to be angry with me, but this isn’t you. Your de--sp-- _ Justice _ wants me to leave, you said so yourself.” 

“What do you know?” he hissed. 

Fenris remembered the sickening cackle of Justice’s threat all those months ago, the false way he had stretched his mouth into a cruel grin. Fenris shuddered and, clamping his eyes shut, yelled a resounding “NO!” that echoed against the walls of the inn room, followed by a violent pulse of lyrium. Both men were knocked off their feet. Anders gasped, as if he had been holding his breath. Eyes widening, he kept gasping, nearly hyperventilating. 

Fenris scrambled towards him on all fours, reaching towards him but hesitating to touch. “Anders? Anders, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to. Did I hurt you?” 

“Justice--You were right, Justice was there and I didn’t know. I was so angry, but I wasn’t. I don’t know what was me and what was him--I’m--I’m not--I can’t--” Anders sputtered. 

Fenris’ hesitation faded, and he pulled the mage to his chest. “It’s alright, it’s over. It’s over,” he murmured, half to Anders and half to himself. 

“It’s not. It’ll never be over. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I ruined him, I made him angry, It’s all my fault.” Anders buried his face in Fenris’ shoulder, muffling his ramblings. 

Fenris started absent mindedly running his fingers along Anders’ hair. “It’s not your fault. It’s his fault. You are good and kind. It’s not your fault.”

Anders raised his head slightly, pressing their foreheads together. “Fenris…” he whimpered, and Fenris’ heart cracked. 

“I’m here,” he whispered. Without thinking he pressed his lips lightly against Anders’ forehead, and Anders shivered. His hands flew to the elf’s face and his thumbs drew lazy circles on Fenris’ jaw. 

Despite himself, Fenris leaned into Anders’ gentle touch. “Anders…” Fenris sighed. “Don’t,” he pleaded both with the mage and with himself. He didn’t want to let lose this landslide. He didn’t want to take advantage of Anders’ distress out of his own selfishness. Most importantly, he didn’t want to have to pretend it meant nothing when the mage realized his error. Anders’ breath grazed his lips and his own caught in his throat. 

“Please,” he whispered hoarsely. 

“ _ Kaffas _ . Festis bei umo canavarum,” Fenris hissed before crushing their lips together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Festis bei umo canavarum - You will be the death of me


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!! I am so sorry it has been so long. I have never let go of this story, but life's been tough, and I haven't had the capacity to write, but we're back. This story is really important to me, I hope that comes through and that I have done our boys justice. 
> 
> p.s. I promise this will have a happy ending. 
> 
> As a little treat/apology, I'm finally releasing a link to the playlist I've been compiling to go along with this fic. It's not exact, mostly just songs that speak to the emotions I've tried/will try to convey in certain moments. If there are any songs that remind you of Dissonance, please recommend them to me <3 
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6NMCe9rH6vRn7LKOVZlnzs?si=Qr0RNqAcSFWiaYvU2XWYQg

_“Festis bei umo canavarum.” The words sounded to Anders like something between a curse and a prayer. He barely had time to process them before the elf’s lips were on his. He inhaled sharply, winding his hands into Fenris’ soft white hair, long enough now to hold on to. Fenris’ lips parted, exhaling into the mage’s mouth, their breath mingling and becoming indistinguishable. He gripped the back of Anders’ head, deepening the kiss, as if he knew that as soon as they parted, one of them would have to run. Fenris knew in that moment that no matter how much it hurt him to be a liminal note in the mage’s journey back to himself, he would do it every day to help break him from his fear, to remind him that he was a man, more than the spirit that fought for control of his body, even if that knowledge ultimately drove them apart. Fenris poured himself into that kiss, in case it was their last. He ran his fingers down along the strands of his red-gold hair, memorizing the feel of it._ I will dream of this for the rest of my life _, he thought reverently to himself._

 _The men finally parted, and Anders fell back onto his heels, bracing himself on the palms of his hands. His eyes widened in partial terror at what he had done. He had taken from Fenris, selfishly begged him to give himself, to let him touch, to feel something other than fear and rage. As the heat faded, he was mortified. Yes, they had grown closer, but Anders was still a mage, an_ abomination _. He had betrayed the elf’s trust and proven himself depraved, revealing that he coveted the elf, no better than a magister, surely._ Another regret, another regret, another-- _Anders stood weakly, shaking his head, and was out the door before Fenris could process what had happened._

***

Anders sat at the edge of Lake Calenhad, knees pulled to his chest, arms hugging them close, and cried. He was losing himself again, he could feel it, and he was already giving in to the fear that had ruled him in Kirkwall--the fear of becoming something that wasn’t _him_ , of becoming a silent passenger to Justice’s mission. In a desperate grab at humanity, he had _kissed Fenris_ . He groaned into his hands. _What is wrong with you? That wasn’t fair to anyone. Now he’ll really hate you, and you actually care._ For months, Anders had known he’d started feeling something for the elf. How could he not? The most beautiful man he’d ever seen was living in his house and _gave him a cat_ . He’d always thought Fenris was attractive, but something had grown between them, at least for Anders, and he’d accepted that he’d have to enjoy what little he could get without acting on it. That Fenris didn’t want to kill him, apparently, was a miracle enough. He’d never entertain the possibility that Fenris cared for him. And then he panicked, and they kissed. Fenris had snapped something in Tevene, probably some horrible curse or promise of murder. _I should just leave, I shouldn’t force him to send me away. I should just--_

“Mage.” 

Anders wrapped his arms around the back of his head, pulling into himself as if he could disappear. 

“Mage, I apologize. We can continue on as before and say nothing more of this.” 

_Back to Mage then_ , Anders thought bitterly to himself. “Sure,” he croaked. 

Fenris felt like his stomach was full of rocks. He’d imagined a bad reaction, but Anders seemed so horrified by the fact Fenris had kissed him that he had bolted out of the room and now was barely speaking. He never wanted to see those eyes again, worse than the deadened look under the Chantry explosion, eyes full of disgust, as if the elf’s hands were full of deathroot rather than lyrium. He’d almost ran himself, but he knew he could never go on, not knowing if the mage was alive or dead. So instead, he gathered himself, and walked to shore, the last place he’d seen Anders smile, hoping he’d gone back there for solace. As he approached the lake, he saw the familiar curve of the man’s back, the glint of his golden hair under the moonlight. He swallowed, afraid that if he opened his mouth too wide to speak, all he felt would spill out. Through gritted teeth, he forced out a single “mage,” and flinched as Anders curled into himself. He was overcome with a feeling of panic and desperation, knowing that even if he couldn’t have all he desired their cool companionship was preferable to nothing, and he felt even that slipping away before him. “Mage, I apologize. We can continue on as before and say nothing more of this,” he pleaded. _Please, please, please…_

“Sure,” Anders replied curtly. 

Fenris turned away, hiding the storm brewing in his eyes. “Very well,” he said quietly. 

***

Their journey to Redcliffe was quiet and uncomfortable. Neither could bring themselves to speak the torment in their minds. Justice was giddy, no doubt sensing that they approached the conclave. Anders shuddered. He feared what being around templars again would unleash, how Justice would react to mages that wanted to rebuild the circle to restore order. He watched Fenris from behind, observing the slightly hunched line of his back, studying the glint of his greatsword. _How long before that finally cuts me down? Would he use his hands I wonder? I think I’d prefer the heart crushing…_ He shook his head. He wouldn’t let it come to that. He didn’t know what would happen when they reached Haven, but he swore to himself that he would keep his blood off the elf’s hands. He deserved that much. 

The village was bustling, filled with people wearing various colors of mage robes, some still donning their circle garb and some opting for more exotic styles Fenris recognized as coming from Tevinter. Fenris bristled, instinctively huddling closer to his mage. He swallowed the defensive diatribes that bubbled against the back of his throat. The last thing he needed to do was to make things between him and Anders worse. Anders sighed. Part of him was offended that Fenris was still so afraid to be around mages, but even he was weary of the sheer _volume_ of them they had found in Redcliffe. He reached out and lightly tapped the elf’s wrist as if to say _you are safe_ . Fenris glanced up at the mage, _his mage_ , and nodded. Anders was hesitant to admit it, but he was just as, if not more, anxious as Fenris. He pulled his hood over his face, praying to the Maker or whoever was listening that nobody would recognize him. Things had not gone how he wanted. More mages had likely died as a result of his actions in Kirkwall than at the hands of the Chantry, than had ever been made tranquil. The consequences of he and Justice’s plans had likely pushed many of these people out of the only home they’d ever known and forced them into the path of war. How many had lost loved ones because of him? How many more were dead or possessed, never getting a chance at revenge?

Fenris watched Anders move through Redcliffe Village curiously. Surrounded by other mages, he’d expected the mage to come out of his shell. Did they not all owe him their freedom? Shouldn’t he be relishing in the power and infamy starting the rebellion surely earned him? Instead, Anders was quiet, eyes flitting around nervously, keeping close to the elf’s side and nagging him to find an inn quickly so they could get inside. 

“How am I the calm one?” Fenris grumbled under his breath. Anders was too distracted to respond. 

They had almost made it to the Gull and Lantern Inn when a voice cut through the din of the crowd. “ _You_.” 

Anders froze, and Fenris’ gaze snapped up in the direction of the voice. He saw a vaguely familiar dark haired man in circle robes. _Alain_ , his memory provided. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Alain said grimly, approaching them. 

Fenris moved to put himself between Anders and the approaching mage. “Keep to your own business. I seem to remember your _skill_ with blood magic. I see one glint of crimson and your heart will be at your feet before you can summon any demon here,” the elf snarled. 

Alain rolled his eyes. “I used blood magic once and only once, to wake your dwarf friend if you recall. I stopped Grace, remember? Regardless, _he_ needs to leave,” he said, thrusting a finger in Anders’ direction. 

“He will do no such thing.” 

“Some of us are trying to put together some semblance of peace to fix what _he_ broke. If he thinks he can ruin this with some other attack, I swear I will kill him first.” 

Fenris was in Alain’s personal space in a flash, pulling him off the ground by the collar. “You wouldn’t live long enough to try,” he breathed through bared teeth. Throwing the mage back into a stumble, his mouth moved faster than his brain could. “You’re a fool. All you’ve ever done was follow. I remember you now. You followed Decimus’ into blood magic, you followed Grace into an ill-conceived revenge plot disguised as a rebellion. How many templars do you think _that_ little performance alienated? You have no desire for peace, you desire complacency and orders. This conclave would be better off with _his_ presence instead of yours.”

He left Alain staring dumbly back at him, and turned around to find Anders staring at him with even wider eyes. 

“Not a word, mage,” Fenris said quickly. 

The shocked expression spread into a grin as Anders followed Fenris’ quickly retreating form. “My presence would benefit them would it? Their peace is complacent, is it?”  
  
“Shut up,” Fenris snapped, words betrayed by a smirk of his own. He felt giddy, somehow, like fire would burst from his skin if he didn’t do _something_. His restlessness remained as they made their way inside the Gull and Lantern, and asked for a room. Fenris barely registered it as the innkeep explained that due to the high volume of guests their only remaining room had just a single bed. When they found their room, Fenris walked quickly to the window, scanning the crowd for any other familiar faces. 

“Did you mean it?” Anders asked suddenly, breaking Fenris out of his haze. 

“What?”  
  
“That you wouldn’t let him kill me.” 

“Do you even have to ask?” Fenris heard himself responding, wistfully.

Anders sighed, a thousand things going unspoken. “Fenris…” 

Fenris shook his head, turning back to the outdoor view. His heart was pounding. He had gotten carried away, and now everything he was trying to hide threatened to come tumbling into view. They were in the final leg of their journey and the conclave loomed over every one of Fenris’ thoughts like a great cataclysm. _Everything is going to change_. 

“I know,” murmured Anders, starting the elf who had not realized he’d spoken out loud. “There will be others like Alain, you know. Some who knew me, some who didn’t, but who all would rather kill me than let me speak...and they’re right to, I betrayed them all,” he continued, voice falling to barely a whisper. 

Fenris’ fist clenched. “They will not touch you.” 

“You can’t be my bodyguard, Fenris,” Anders said gently, pleadingly. 

Fenris’ head snapped around, retort catching in his throat as he saw the softness in the mage’s eyes. “I’m not--” he shook his head. “You know me better than to think I would act as another mage’s bodyguard.” 

Anders grimaced. “Or maybe I’m just another magister after all, using you...taking advantage.”

Fenris cocked an eyebrow curiously. “Taking--What are you talking about? I have been trying to keep you alive against _your_ best efforts if you’ll remember.”  
“I’m not talking about--Agh, Nevermind. Just forget it. I’m tired, so I’m arguing about nothing.” 

Fenris furrowed his brow before realization dawned on him. “Are you--Anders do you mean--” His ill-formed question was answered by the blush that colored the mage’s cheeks, and the downward angle at which he averted his gaze. “I already apologized for that. You were distraught and if anything, I took advantage of _you_.”

Anders looked back at the elf with a dumbfounded expression on his face. “But I--I threw myself at you, you said no and I pushed. I barely gave you a choice,” he said quietly, shame clear across his face. 

“That’s not what happened,” Fenris said carefully, trying to swallow this burning urge he felt to confess everything to the other man in that moment. 

“Then why?” Anders asked, voice almost hoarse with confusion. “Why?” 

“Why must we discuss this? It is done. Leave it be.” 

Anders shook his head. “I don’t believe you. Something’s wrong, and I need to know if I hurt you or--or--I don’t know, I just…Please.” 

Fenris covered his face in his hands and shook his head. “Vishante kaffas, you fool mage. Festis bei umo canavarum.”

“And that! See, you said that before. What does it mean? I keep guessing but I’m sure I’m sure I can’t do it justice, no pun intended.” 

Fenris made a frustrated groan. The mage wouldn’t stop pushing, he could feel it. Even worse, he was pushing because he thought the worst. “I’m afraid the truth is much simpler and much more terrible than you imagine,” Fenris said softly. He finally looked up and met the mage’s eyes. Anders looked concerned and confused, like he was simultaneously on the verge of panic and despair. He stood, and took a step closer to the mage. “It’s Tevene. It means, you will be the death of me. I didn’t say it because I am unhappy or unwilling. I said it because I would gladly follow you to the ends of Thedas and through the gates of the Black City if you asked me to, because nothing would be worse than the thought of living without you.” 

Anders laughed nervously. “Be careful Fenris, it almost sounds like--” 

The mage was interrupted by a hand gently cradling his face. “I’m sorry. I do. I understand if we must part ways after the conclave, but you _will_ allow me to see you through this safely. 

“Part ways?” Anders inquired, confused shock filling his eyes. “Why would--oh. _Oh_ ,” he stammered, before stepping back and _laughing_.

Fenris shrunk away. “I didn’t realize this would _amuse you_ so thoroughly. Perhaps I should just leave now.” 

In between laughs, Anders gasped, “You’re a blighted moron,” before closing the distance between them and kissing the elf soundly on the mouth. 

Fenris stumbled backwards with the force of it, bracing himself against the windowsill with one hand, and gripping Anders’ waist with the other. They both sighed into each other, the relief palpable between them. Fenris pulled the mage closer, parting his legs to close any remaining space between them. 

Anders’ hands ran hungrily up and down Fenris’s back, his sides, his arms; the elf shuddered as his markings buzzed at the contact with the latent magic under Anders’ skin. Anders’ hesitated, breaking their kiss for just a moment. “Do they hurt?” he whispered. 

“No,” Fenris responded softly. “Not with you. Never with you.” 

Emotion burst from Anders through a series of deeper and deeper kisses, hands winding through Fenris’s hair. “Your hair has gotten so long,” he murmured.

Fenris pulled a section of Anders’ hair through his own fingers. “So has yours.” 

“Beautiful. So beautiful,” Anders chanted between kisses.

Fenris rolled his hips, drawing a groan from the other. Anders pressed his pelvis forward, the welcoming heat of the elf’s groin heightening his own arousal. “Anders…” Fenris moaned. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Anders replied breathily. 

“No, I’m sorry” Fenris murmured, breath hot against Anders’ ear. “We’ll talk. Later.” Then, suddenly, he was pushing Anders backwards onto the bed. 

“I guess it didn’t end up mattering that we got one bed,” Anders chuckled. “I meant to bring that up.” 

“Shut up, mage,” Fenris said affectionately, bringing their mouths back together. 

Anders drew his knees up, allowing Fenris to fit between them. They were cradled together, kissing and touching as if the other was the only water in an endless desert. 

Strange for the pair, things became quiet between them. Words had caused so much pain in their past, always saying the wrong thing, always misinterpreting. This time, they spoke through the movement of their bodies, caresses, and kisses. They rolled onto their sides, facing each other with arms wrapped around waists and legs tangled together. Stopping for breath, they pressed their foreheads together. Fenris searched the other man’s face, whose eyes had fluttered closed and was breathing slow, focused breaths. “What’s wrong?” 

Anders opened his eyes and smiled sadly. “Nothing. I just...I wish we had more time.” 

Fenris ran his fingers through Anders' hair, ending with his hand cupping the mage’s face. “We have all the time in the world. The past...Well, we can’t change that now. We can only control the life we make in the future. And...And if there’s a future to be had, I will walk gladly into it at your side.”

Anders choked back a sob, closing his eyes again. “I’m afraid.” 

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” Fenris whispered, pressing another soft kiss to Anders’ lips. Anders responded with a hunger, grabbing Fenris’ hair and pulling him close. Fenris groaned, ignoring the salty taste of tears smeared between them. His lips parted as Anders’ demanded entry, and the mage pushed his legs apart to decrease the distance between them anymore. His kissing became greedy and desperate, a shift Fenris didn’t think twice about because he felt it too, the need he had been fighting for months, perhaps longer when he was too blind to see who this man truly was. Anders wrapped his leg behind Fenris’s thigh and the elf felt the heat growing between them. “Anders--” he choked. 

The two men lingered, forehead pressed to forehead, the only sound in the room their breath panting and heavy. Anders’ eyes were closed, lines of stress forming around them as he pressed his eyes closed tighter, and tighter. Fenris cupped his cheek lightly, the mage turning his face into the elf’s warm palm. Fenris’ heart ached. They teetered on the precipice of a great fissure, the earth shaking beneath them, both knowing that whichever side they chose to land on they’d never be able to return to the before. “I’m here,” Fenris murmured finally. “Anders, look at me.” 

Anders’ eyes opened slowly, wet with unshed tears. He smiled sadly. “You deserve better than this.”

“Let me decide what I deserve,” he replied, firmly, before pressing a soft kiss to Anders’ lips. 

Anders sighed into it, and they continued, movements softer and gentler than before. They savored each others’ touches, pressing ever closer, seeking more, more, more…

Clothes became too much and were removed in a haze, somehow simultaneously fast and slow. When they joined, it was slow and careful, both protecting and protected, both unwilling to speak anymore, as if what they were searching for would shatter if they came upon it too quickly. They came together, gasping, clinging together much longer than necessary. Fenris fell asleep first, his limbs tangled with Anders’, whose fingers stroked the elf’s soft, white hair long through the night. He did not sleep.

The first thing Fenris noticed when he woke up to a soft intrusion of sunlight was the pleasant ache pulsing through his body. Memories of the night before returned to him like a warm embrace. He smiled, and groaned, stretching his arms out, expecting to reach the warm body of his companion. The second thing he noticed, then, was that the bed was empty. He opened his eyes, and sat up. The third thing he noticed was that the room was empty. “Anders?” The only response was the quiet creak of the bed as he stood, wrapping their thin blanket around his naked body. He scanned the room, and a cool dread pulled around him as he realized that more than the man was missing--Anders’ pack and clothes were nowhere to be seen. “Anders?” Fenris called out, helplessly. The fourth thing he noticed was a single sheet of paper folded on the window sill. His hand shook as he reached for it, every word he read making his stomach tighten and his heart break. 

_Fenris,_

_I wish it didn’t have to be this way. It kills me to know I’m cutting our time short after we wasted so much of it, but I have no other choice. You have given me more in the past months than I ever could have imagined. You made me want to live again. You made me care about someone other than myself. You gave me joy. Last night is a memory I will hold on to until my last breath. It almost makes everything worth it. Is that sick? I can no longer regret the past if it was necessary to bring us together. I can see things for what they are now. I must make one thing perfectly clear: I love you, Fenris. I love you as I’ve never loved anyone before. I wish I could see how beautiful, compassionate, and strong you are in Kirkwall. I do not regret Hawke, but what I feel for you, now, is different. It will sustain me, in the end, knowing that I’ve left at least one good memory behind. I also know that it is Justice who made me hate you. He can see only our disagreements, tells me you’re a distraction, that your very presence hurts the cause of mages. It reminds me too much of Kirkwall, his Vengeance turned to destruction. I will not let him destroy you. You’ve protected me, allowed me to heal, allowed me to love. Let me do the same for you. Please, do not follow me. Return to Hamsal. Be happy. Find someone. Make something good. Maybe, if I let you do this, my legacy can be one of beauty, rather than his destruction. I don’t know what he’ll do, but he’s taking over. He’s grown stronger too, you see, but I’m not strong enough to let him go. I have to be strong enough to let you._

_I’m sorry._

_Anders_


End file.
